(I've Never Reached An Answer) I'm Only Given Clues
by thefooliam
Summary: Santana and Quinn's hopes of a peaceful and relaxing summer at Santana's grandmother's in Florida are dashed when the rest of New Directions invites themselves to join them.
1. Prologue

They're in line at the Lima Bean for their Saturday morning coffee when one of them actually chooses to comment on it. Santana just rolls her eyes because she's been waiting for one of them to say it for days, but refused to be the idiot who stated the obvious.

"This is quite possibly the most boring summer ever," Quinn sighs softly, staring blankly out of the window. "Ever."

Without Cheerios, without any sort of popularity to garner them invites to any social gathering, they've discovered that there's little to do in this town. They're just left hovering around, staring blankly and paying attention to the most mundane of things, going to the most uninteresting places just for something to do so they don't melt into their couches.

It's been two weeks since the end of school. They've been hanging out since New York; it's kind of nice having some company who wants to not talk as much as they do. It's been two weeks of waving goodbye to their friends as they go off on their own adventures and watching the multitude of nineties sitcoms that Santana owns on DVD.

Tina and Mike were first; they left for Asian camp the first Saturday morning of summer vacation. Puck was next, choosing to follow Lauren on her country-wide wrestling tour. Santana didn't even want to think about _why_ and Quinn kind of just went green at the thought. Artie was next, visiting his Grandma in Cincinnati for a week. Still pissed at them, for Nationals in Santana's case and the obvious in Quinn's, they had refused to acknowledge anything done by Rachel and Finn. Kurt and Blaine had mentioned something about the four of them doing community theater, but Santana had shut that mention down before they'd got past the first sentence. That was the afternoon that Brittany left for Colorado with her parents, giving both her and Quinn hugs on her driveway. Santana still smiles when she remembers the kiss on the cheek Brittany had snuck her when no one else was looking.

That was six days ago and now it's just them wasting away as they search desperately for something to do. But what can they do in a barren land that had nothing more than a multiplex and a video store?

"Yeah," Santana huffs as she crosses her arms over her chest. "Ever."

/

Her parents come home from work at midnight and she tries not to jump when they slam the door as they come in. She's usually asleep by the time they get home, but for once it's before the sun rises that they wander into the living room and give her bright smiles like it's the middle of the day.

"Hey, Cookie," her dad says as he takes off his jacket. He bends to press a kiss to her forehead and she smiles despite her usual antagonism, relishing in the affection. "We didn't think you'd still be awake. We need to talk to you."

Her mind buzzes, trying to remember anything she might have done that would call for this intervention, but she comes up short. Her parents sit beside her, her mom at her feet and dad on the arm of the couch beside her with a hand resting atop her head.

"We're worried about you."

She give them her usual scowl, and they laugh. They _always_laugh.

That's the funny thing; most people think that her parents are the reason she is the way she is, but they're not. They might not be around all the time, but they're still parents. They still want to know how their kid is when they get home, or want to kick her ass when she does something she shouldn't. Just like she's still a teenage girl who wants her nosy parents to stay the heck out of her business.

"Mrs Bailey called us. She said that you hadn't moved from where you were three days ago when she came by to do the laundry yesterday."

That's another thing about Santana's parents. They're always looking for the things that might be wrong.

"We had a _Roseanne_marathon. I got the DVDs."

Her dad snorts and her mom rests a hand on her ankle. It's such a familiar action that Santana would barely notice it normally. But it's been such a long time since she got any kind of affection that the hand resting atop her messy head of hair and the fingers curled around her ankle make her feel more tethered to the world than she has done in a long while.

"Well, you know it's mine and your dad's anniversary." The widening of Santana's eyes betrays that, no, she didn't know that. Well, she did, but she completely forgot. Her mom rolls her eyes and her dad slowly scratches his fingers in her hair. "Well, it's next week and we're just worried to leave you alone while we go on the cruise."

Santana's sighs. Oh, yeah. The cruise. Another crappy thing about this summer, stopping her from having some actual _fun._Because her parents are going on a stupid month-long cruise around the world, they're not going to her Grandma's house in Key West like they usually do. So, instead, she gets four weeks in an empty house with regular visits from Mrs Bailey their annoying cleaning lady making sure she hasn't died or spilled soda on the carpet again.

She shrugs. "I'll be fine."

Her father eyes curiously. "Where are your friends? Where's Brittany?"

Santana shrugs and tries to ignore the little flip her heart gives at the mention of her best friend. "I don't know. Quinn's at a family thing tonight, but everyone else has gone somewhere. Brittany's in Colorado for three weeks with her folks."

Her dad nudges her until there's enough room to sit beside her. "Then why don't you do something?"

She rolls her eyes. "We're in Lima, Dad. Watching Roseanne Barr for four days straight is as exciting as it gets. The only joy I get is when the delivery guy drops off my Amazon orders."

"Why don't you go see Grandma?" he says and she grimaces, earning herself a slap to the leg from her mother. "I know, I know. That place is like a commune for old hippies, but why don't you fly down there and stay at the Keys anyway? You can take Quinn, catch a tan, go snorkeling."

Her mom cuts through Santana's excitement with her usual responsible parenting. It's always the same: Dad's the good cop, Mom's the bad.

"I don't think that's a good idea, leaving two seventeen year-olds alone in a house together."

"She'll be with Quinn. I trust Quinn," her mother gives him a disapproving look and he scoffs. "So what if she got pregnant _one time_? Come on, it's not fair that she doesn't get to go just because we won't be there."

Her mother doesn't look so sure, but she gives in when Santana grins up at her pleadingly. Her mother's eyes roll just like her daughter's do and she shakes her head with a sigh. "You better behave yourself. If anyone get's pregnant, you're in big trouble."

Santana almost snorts, but nods frantically instead mumbling out a promise. Her mother leaves the room for the kitchen and her dad follows once he's pressed proud kiss to her forehead. She's such a closet daddy's girl it's insane.

A minute later, her phone is pressed to her ear and Quinn's picking up with a disapproving groan that grumbles down the line.

"Oh, what the hell ever, Fabray. This is the last time I call you to ask if you wanna come to Florida on Vacation with me free of charge."

/

They agree that no one else should know about the trip, that it's just going to be them because it provides for less drama and she actually starts to feel excited at the prospect of spending four weeks with Quinn Fabray.

Usually, she flies down to Florida to save time, but Quinn convinces her that they should road trip there. Santana's still a little concerned about her friend's mental state for a moment and asks if she's trying to get her to be the Louise to her Thelma, but Quinn rolls her eyes and tells her that she just wants to see the world a little bit.

It's all fine, all secret and exciting, until the Tuesday before they're due to leave. Santana sits reading a magazine in a dark corner of the Lima Bean and Quinn sits across from her, anally writing a list of everything they'll need, trying to figure out if they have enough money, when it all starts going to hell.

"What will we even do for a month once we get there?" Quinn asks as she jots more and more things down. Quinn's almost as bad as Berry, but she doesn't tell her that. "Does your grandma's house have hypoallergenic pillows?"

Santana looks at her incredulously for a moment before ignoring the second question completely. "I don't know what you're going to do, but I plan to do exactly what I did last summer."

"You're getting another boob job?" Quinn asks without looking up.

"Ha. You're funny," she deadpans as Quinn gazes up to smirk at her. "But no. I'm going to spend four entire weeks wearing nothing more than short shorts, a baby tee and a bikini while I think about nothing other than the stupid amount of shrimp I'm going to eat for dinner. Whatever you do is your prerogative, but maybe you should try getting laid or something."

Quinn looks up from the notepad and gives her that sugary sweet smile full of acid. Quinn Fabray's like a glass of damn lemonade. Sweet, but she'll sting if you've got any preexisting open wounds.

"That's the last things on my mind," she informs her. "This is a vacation. We're driving two thousand miles to get away from the troubles of boys. I plan to relax and read on the beach and get over Lima crap."

"But what's life without a little Lima crap?"

They both jump and turn to look at Puck. He looks like he hasn't washed in days and smells like it too. He also has a black eye. His duffel is hanging over his shoulder and he leers at them like they've just told him the world's biggest secret.

"Hey Mamas," he winks. "What's this I hear about a trip?"

/

They threaten castration if he tells anyone, but agree to let him come along. For a while, it seems like a sweet deal. He gives Santana fifty bucks towards gas money, even though she has more than enough, and agrees to get them fake IDs from a guy he knows. Along with the promise of there being five cartons of menthol cigarettes on her dash the morning they leave, just so she'll be able to handle him being there without getting arrested for drunk driving, she's not that worried about sharing a car with Noah Puckerman for three days.

That's until she opens up her front door and finds Artie Abrams sitting there with a tentative smile on his face.

"Puck told me about your trip," he says in lieu of a greeting. Santana feels dread sinking in her gut already. "I was wondering if you would consider letting me come along."

Santana narrows her eyes. There's something not right about this. Sure, they've been getting along since he and Britt became friends again, but _they're_not friends and he still looks at her like she's the spawn of Satan every once in a while. Brittany did cheat on him with her, after all. Her brain lists all the ulterior motives he could possibly have before he's managed to wheel himself into her house and into her kitchen.

It's not until he smiles sheepishly, and sips on the coke she shoves at him, that she relaxes.

"I want to move on," he says gently. "I want to get over Brittany, and Tina and this past year. I just need to get out of Lima for a while."

She finds it hard to say no when she can both empathize with his reasons and find hope for herself in them. She makes him promise not to tell and he nods in understanding. She hands him Quinn's itinerary to read and they watch an episode of _Cheers _before he heads home.

/

Quinn's got her already packed case laid open on Santana's bed and Santana's empty bag sitting beside it as she walks around Santana's room and packs it for her. She's got that frantic, neurotic look about her again, but Santana learned to ignore that years ago. It's not until her front doorbell rings and Quinn actually jumps, that she figures she should worry. Quinn avoids her eye and Santana knows instantly, without a word even being said, what's happening.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me," she spits when she opens her front door and finds Kurt and Blaine stood there. "No. _No_. No way." She shakes her head, and she feels that bubble of anger in her stomach that usually results in uncontrollable Spanish before she turns to Quinn. "I can't believe you, Quinn Fabray. What the hell happened to keeping it a secret? Is _nothing_ sacred?"

"It slipped out."

She groans and turns back to the two boys on her front stoop. "I thought you were at Six Flags?"

They shrug in response.

"Why the hell would you want to spend four weeks with us?" She asks, already losing hope.

Kurt skips into her living room and shrugs again, Blaine trailing behind him. "I got the travel bug when we went to New York. I have nothing to do this summer, and Blaine didn't get the Six Flags gig."

"We both have a little money saved and we thought we'd see some of the world," Blaine explains to her apologetically. "I can totally understand if you don't want us there, but we've got our own car and we just need somewhere to stay."

Santana groans again and lets a slew of Spanish leave her mouth as she reaches for Quinn's itinerary. She grins in triumph when she throws it and it knocks Kurt's beret from his head.

/

She makes it a requirement that everyone gives her a hundred bucks to come on the trip, hoping that none of them will come up with the cash. Puck's first, handing her another fifty to add to the one that he already gave her. Artie's after, pushing the money at her like a little kid handing over lunch money to a bully, but he asks her if there's anything else she needs and she starts to think that he's just being sincere. Quinn doesn't give her money; she already put half of her savings into their gas fund because she didn't want Santana having that hanging over her. Kurt and Blaine hand her the cash and she burst off into another monologue of Spanish thinking that they wouldn't manage it.

When Rachel Berry arrives at her doorstep with Finn in tow asking to be involved in their cross-country adventure, the first thing Santana does is slam the door in her face and call Kurt to holler down the phone at him. Quinn just watches on as Santana gets angry for her. Their dream of a peaceful trip is suddenly in ruins.

Santana opens the door again and points a warning finger in Rachel's face. "Two hundred bucks. Each. That's the condition. You get the money, you're on the trip. And if you do, you're in Kurt's car. You stay away from us."

/

Rachel comes up with the money. Quinn walks out of the room with a face like thunder to mask her disappointment and sadness. It's already the worst trip ever and it hasn't even started.

Santana asks her if she wants to call the whole thing off.

Quinn shakes her head. "Hopefully she can't swim. That way I can push her overboard on a boating trip and she'll drown."

At the thought, Santana smirks with the possibilities.

/

Tina and Mike skulk back from Asian camp weeks before they're meant to. Quinn tells her, the same night she hears the news from Mercedes, that they got fired for getting caught by some kids doing it in one of the cabins mid-afternoon and eating pizza.

They have the money ready when they knock on Santana's door and she says nothing to them, just takes the cash and slips them a copy of the itinerary Quinn made copies of once Rachel started demanding to know their daily break down and asking what day they're going to Graceland.

Santana packs razorblades and Quinn doesn't question it.

/

They all meet the afternoon before they leave to make sure everyone has everything and organize car seating. Sam and Mercedes arrive together and curiosity sparks in Santana at the sight of them huddled close, but that's quickly over-taken by confusion when they both thrust a hundred bucks into her hand.

"I thought you were homeless and you were busy..." Tina says for her when she just stares at the cash in disbelief.

"My grandma died," Sam explains and they all narrow their eyes at the way he smiles at the fact. He chuckles. "We hated her, but she had more money than we do and we're her only relatives, so..."

Everyone congratulates him, happy to hear that he probably won't have to live in a motel anymore, or spend the summer delivering pizzas. They all eventually turn to the girl beside him but Mercedes shrugs it off.

"I didn't want to miss spending the time with you guys," she explains. "I didn't want to be the only one of the group who's not in on your private jokes and everything, so..."

Santana smiles because, yeah whatever, she kinda likes Wheezy, but then the smile falls when she realizes that there's still one person missing. Well, two, but Lauren wasn't really one of the group and she punched Puck in the eye and sent him home from Kansas without transport.

Santana sighs and tries to force a smile onto her face. The facade works until Quinn looks at her. She shrugs her shoulders softly and doesn't take her eyes off Santana. Santana can tell from the knowing stare that she understands. They stay longer than everyone else and don't say anything as they both quietly regret thinking that this trip was ever a good idea.

/

Quinn spends that night at Santana's to save time in the morning and they stay up late laying on Santana's couches and watching game show re-runs. Santana gets most of the answers right and Quinn takes the opportunity to call her a nerd for knowing so much useless trivia.

"You kinda get to know all kinds of crap when you spend most of your time with Brittany," she mumbles, the TV flickering in her big dark brown eyes. Her quilt wraps around her until she looks like a burrito with her hands poking out the top under her chin and her toes out the bottom.

Quinn turns away from the TV to look at her then, and the relief Santana finds in her eyes tells her that Quinn been waiting for a mention of the name for days. Santana hasn't talked about her, hasn't mentioned her name since they all said goodbye on Brittany's driveway. Not even when Brittany's many various postcards came did she say anything.

She alerts Santana that she's about to say something heavy with the huge in take of air she drags into her lungs. "What happened?" she asks, and Santana loves how there's no awkward small talk, no coaxing of her into admitting that there's something bothering her. Quinn can just tell.

But the reality of the question settles over any other thoughts Santana might have. Her face falls and she curls into herself a little more, eyes still trained on the TV even though she stopped watching it minutes ago.

"Lots of stuff," Santana settles on to avoid saying something that might implicate anything she doesn't want Quinn to know. Not that it matters; she's pretty sure Quinn already knows everything.

Quinn takes in another breath and tilts her head to look at her, curling into her own quilt as she shuffles into the cushions. "So, start at the beginning."

Tears prickle in her eyes and it occurs to her suddenly how much she's missed her best friend. Not Brittany, because missing her is something she does automatically the minute the girl leaves a room and even sometimes when she's still in it. But Quinn. She realizes how much she's missed their sleepovers and how they used to talk all the time. She misses how they would talk and Brittany would get confused and they'd both explain. She misses the times when Brittany would eat too much sugar and then crash ages before either of the other two would and they'd talk about everything and nothing as they let exhaustion kick in. Life was easier back then.

She takes in her own shallow and deep lung full of air, just in case this is one of those times where it hurts to say it. "I'm in love with her," she whispers, and discovers that there's nothing else to say because those words speak for themselves.

The relief is substantial. It feels like she's lifted something heavy from her chest, off her shoulders. Minutes later, sudden exhaustion overcomes her, and she falls gently asleep.

/

She's awoken at six am by Rachel Berry shouting in her driveway at Finn. Quinn hesitates before stopping her when she grabs a knife from the block on the counter and heads for the front door. She doesn't even try to decipher the Spanish. It was inevitable and she already packed her dictionary at the bottom of her bag ready for the trip.

"We brought coffee," Finn says when they've opened the door.

"You're two hours early."

He holds out the cups to them how zookeepers hold out entire animal limbs to hungry lions. It's exactly how they take them from him, like they want his arm to come off too.

/

Half an hour later and thanks to having two empty bathrooms at their disposal to save time, Santana and Quinn arrive back downstairs where Rachel and Finn sit watching _Frasier_.

"What's he even saying?" Finn mutters to himself and the TV. Santana rolls her eyes as Quinn heads to check everything in their bags.

Rachel stands and hovers around the two girls like a fly, hands clasped in front of her. Santana turns to her and glares until she jumps back.

"I noticed that you've packed a lot of entertainment to take with you," she states, nervously pointing to the bag of DVDs, board games and books she and Quinn carefully spent the last week packing. "Do you anticipate that you'll be bored on this trip? Because if so I can think of many activities that will keep the entire team amused."

Santana pauses and shakes her head. She's still tired. She wants to punch Rachel Berry but she doesn't want everyone to start shouting like she knows they would. She has a headache. She needs a painkiller and for Rachel Berry to not exist. She has to drive hundreds of miles today and she can't do that if she's like this.

"Shut up, Berry." She growls low in her throat. "This is not your trip. This is our trip and you invaded it like Napoleon. This shit is to drown out your incessant harping," she says pointing warningly at the bag too.

"But..." Rachel starts, "The _New Directions Key West Summer Vacation_ needs to be conducted in the true spirit of this club..."

Santana rounds on her and Quinn's hands are around her elbows holding her back before she knows it. "This is _not_ a damn Glee club trip, Berry. This is _our_ damn trip. It's _the Taco and Burger Tour of America 2011,_ dammit!" she says indignantly, Quinn sniggers at the name they joked of days ago. "We're going to visit _my_grandmother, we're staying in _my_grandmother's house and what I say goes, understood?"

Rachel nods at the menacing calm in her voice. "Un-understood."

/

Half an hour after they'd arranged to meet at Santana's house, the others begin to arrive. Santana glares at Rachel as she opens her mouth to chastise everyone for their tardiness and takes the cup of coffee that Mercedes hands her with a laugh and a hello.

Most of the others get dropped off by disgruntled parents, but Mike and Tina show up in his car and it looks like a hook-up shelter on wheels. There's blankets and pillows, random items of both their clothing. Mike blushes as he gathers up all the crap and throws it into the trunk.

Blaine and Kurt show up after, their car in pristine and perfect condition while smelling like forest fern and Turtle Wax. Kurt's dressed like he's about to go driving in _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_ while everyone else has been smart enough to wear jeans or sweats to be comfortable. Except for Rachel who still looks like a toddler with her skirts and sweaters, still wearing tights even though summer set in weeks ago. Santana looks down at her jean shorts and tank and decides, yet again, that she's the hottest bitch in this damn club.

"Is everything going to fit in all three cars?" Mike asks nervously, looking at his already partially full trunk that matches Blaine's filled with his and Kurt's suitcases .

The boys spend the next forty minutes debating how to fit the bags into the cars while the girls actually put the bags in the cars. By the time they realize, Santana's already sitting in her car, sorting out her iPod and ignoring her friends as they argue.

It's a little longer before everyone's got everything they need and they're still waiting on Puck. Santana resorts to dashing in and out of her house as she remembers all the things she might need and cursing Puck for making her wait longer than necessary.

Another half hour later, they're all sat in the cars still waiting for Puck when a familiar car parks up and Santana's heart stops as her brain struggles to compute what she's saying. She can't believe it. Puck gets out of the passenger side first, smirking as he steps towards the other cars. He chucks five cartons of menthol cigarettes through Santana's open window and smirks.

It's another few seconds, but then the driver door opens and Santana's eyes widen even more than she thought possible as her mouth drops open. A familiar blond head of hair and a beautiful face emerge lugging a giant duffel bag on their back. Santana laughs in disbelief.

"Hey!" Brittany calls out as she steps around her mother's car to get everyone's attention. "You got room for one more?"

Any other words she might say are drowned out by the screams of her friends as they rush from the car to greet her.

Only Santana and Quinn remain in the front seat of her car. Santana turns to look at Quinn, expecting her to look just as confused as she is, but Quinn smiles knowingly. Santana's face falls as she quickly realizes what's going on and tears prickle in her eyes.

"I called her," Quinn says as explanation. "Told her about the trip."

She jumps out the car without another word and joins the others. Santana just stares at Brittany. She's more tan, her eyes are bluer. She's wearing shorts and a tank too, one of her ridiculous hats perched on her head. She smiles when she catches Santana's eye and leaves the group to walk towards her. She leans in through the open window and smiles lazily.

"So, you got room for one more?" Brittany holds her hand out to give something to her, and Santana lifts an open palm to take it. Brittany drops a few twenty dollar bills into her hand and smiles as she waits for an answer.

Santana rolls her eye, "You didn't have to..."

"I know," Brittany smiles. "But I wanted to be like everyone else." Santana smiles at her nervously. A blush rises up her cheeks. It's been two weeks since they last saw each other and right now, she's never been more aware of the fact. "You gonna give me a hug, or..."

Santana just opens the door and Brittany does the rest. Dropping her bag to the floor, she leans in, climbing onto Santana's lap and wrapping her arms tightly around her best friend. Santana laughs and tries to ignore that the rest of their teammates are watching. Brittany giggles as she scratches her fingers fondly at the back of Santana's neck.

"I missed you," Brittany whispers so softly that she feels it more than hears it. Santana takes a deep breath and clings on tighter. Brittany smells familiar but different, musky like she hasn't changed her clothes in a while. It makes her head spin.

"Missed you too," she mutters against Brittany's shoulder and she doesn't know how she's only just noticed. Brittany pulls away and flops gracefully into the passenger seat beside her. The sudden lack of closeness to Brittany's body stings instantly.

The rest of the team start to climb back into the cars. Brittany stares at her for a while, before picking one of the cigarette cartons from her lap. "You're not smoking these," she says, seconds before she crawls into the back to greet Artie. Santana watches her, relishing in how she moves and the sudden buzzing of her own skin. Quinn returns to the car and waits for Brittany to finish hugging Artie.

"Take my seat, Britt," she says as she slips into the seat next to Artie, offering the passenger side up for Brittany. Brittany grins and hugs her tightly in thanks. Excitement bubbles in Santana's gut as Puck climbs into the backseat via the trunk and closes the final door. She laughs once as she picks up the walkie talkie resting where her cell phone would usually sit and shakes her head in disbelief.

Pressing the button on the side she clears her throat and speaks into the receiver, "Okay, seat belts on. You bitches ready?"

With a crackle of agreement through the speaker and a smile from Brittany beside her, suddenly things are starting to look up.


	2. Part 1

They're barely off of her street before the first hiccup occurs.

Puck casually mentions that he hasn't packed any underwear for the trip, and he's the only one that argues it when Santana reroutes them all to the mall.

/

Puck and Santana face one another as they throw angry words back and forth at each other in the middle of the near empty mall parking lot.

Puck mostly shouts about how she ruins all of his fun, that she's changed because she used to love it when he didn't wear underwear. Santana ignores everything he says and switches between muttering low words in Spanish (that are definitely not on the high school syllabus), and screaming that she's leaving without him if he doesn't get the hell inside and buy at least thirty pairs of boxer shorts.

The rest of the group remains inside the cars, watching the showdown with bored intrigue. They say nothing, just listen and wonder how these two were ever in anyway together.

That's until Sam slowly breaks through the shouting with a cough and mentions that he actually needs to pick up a few things too.

Five minutes later, Santana's yelling that they have half an hour before she's high-tailing it out of there without them.

/

She ends up sitting in Starbucks with Quinn, drinking another gallon of coffee. Quinn sips on a cup of tea like she's nineteenth century British and neither of them say anything as she silently works out the new ETAs on their itinerary.

"We're already an hour behind and we haven't even left Lima," Quinn tells her like she wasn't completely aware of the fact.

Santana digs into her pockets for some cash. Four cups in thirty minutes has got to be a new record, or at least a personal best. "We should have just flown down there the night that Puckerman found out. It would have saved so much hassle."

Quinn steadies the table as Santana almost knocks their drinks over in a disgruntled war with her own clothing.

"But that would mean that Brittany wouldn't be here." Quinn says it like it's nothing, but it causes Santana to stop and stare at her friend, studying her carefully.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Quinn shrugs and drains the last of her cup. "You want another?" she asks and then she's out of her seat before Santana can punch her in the face for being so damn annoying.

She doesn't even get to question her when she returns to the table because the others come in and ask them if they want to go get breakfast.

/

Santana shouts for another five minutes about being behind schedule and almost punches Rachel when she tries to back her up.

She abruptly stops when she's cramped in a booth beside Brittany and their bare thighs touch. It's electric and she darts away at the sensation. That's until Brittany shuffles closer to her and she has no choice but to feel it again and again.

They'll get there when they get there.

/

Breakfast, shopping, another coffee run, and a fifteen minute struggle to fit everything they've purchased into the cars, makes them three hours behind schedule. Santana's so past mad that she doesn't say anything, just sits with her hands firmly planted on the steering wheel.

They arrive on the highway a little while after and Santana finally feels like they're getting somewhere. She sighs in relief and turns her head to look at Brittany but finds her fast asleep, curled into a ball against the door.

Santana smiles despite the disappointment she feels. Car journeys with Brittany are one of her favorite things, but not when she's sleeping.

Quinn catches her eye in the rear view and gives her a knowing look. Santana doesn't know why, but she suddenly feels guilty.

The worst part is, is that she has no idea what for and it nags at some nameless part deep inside of her.

/

After a crackle over the radio, they stop at a mostly empty roadside diner just outside Louisville, Kentucky for some lunch. The little old lady running it looks terrified at the sudden amount of teenagers entering the restaurant and seats them all as far away from the counter as possible.

Santana remains behind after everyone has gone and gently coaxes Brittany awake. She stirs and opens one eye to view Santana.

"Hey," Santana says softly and she can't stop herself from brushing Brittany's hair from her face. "You hungry? We've stopped for some lunch."

Brittany's eyes flutter closed again and she shakes her head softly. Santana smiles and quietly exits the car, leaving her best friend behind to slumber.

/

"She only just made it," Puck tells her quietly once their food has arrived, but not before his entire face is covered in barbecue sauce. "Her parents nearly didn't let her come. She kept asking them for days and then yesterday morning they said she could take her mom's car. She didn't sleep so she could get back in time."

Santana watches her carefully out of the window, knowing that she'd do exactly the same thing.

/

They've been back on the road just over an hour when Brittany wakes up and stretches out her long limbs with a groan. Santana watches her with a sideways glance as she blinks then smiles once she realizes where she is, like she's waking up from a dream that actually came true.

"How long was I asleep?" she mumbles, turning to face Santana and curling back into a sleepy ball. She darts her heavy blue eyes to the back of the car and finds the others are asleep.

With full bellies, the rest of their companions had easily drifted off as soon as they got back in the car. Plus, the sun was beating down on them hard and the air was warm and stuffy. The only logical thing to do was to sleep in order to stave off enduring the tingles of the burning sun rays on their skin.

Santana checks the clock on the dash. "About seven hours," she says. "Tired?"

Brittany giggles low, sleep still thick in her throat. Santana almost shivers at the sound of it. "Not anymore," Brittany shakes her head.

Santana smiles rolls her eyes in response and changes lanes, watching Blaine and Mike follow her in her rear view. She turns back to the road, just in time to watch Brittany sit up and rub her stomach.

"Did you bring any snacks?" she says as her tummy grumbles in agreement.

Santana just hands her the take out box that's been waiting for her on the dash. Brittany gasps in excitement as she takes it. Santana waits nervously for Brittany to open the box, chuckling when she becomes so excited her fingers fumble at the opening.

The kiss to her cheek she gets when Brittany realizes that she picked her up her favorite sandwich is worth the swerve she almost takes into the center barrier.

/

An hour away from Nashville, Santana yawns in exhaustion.

Brittany nudges her, before giving her a bright smile, and coaxes her into a game of _I Spy_ that has her laughing so hard she wakes the other three up.

They're not amused but Santana doesn't give a crap when Brittany's laughing so hard she can't breathe.

/

It's almost 9pm by the time they arrive and they spend a good half hour driving around searching for a motel. Santana's almost mad about it until she sees the disappointment in Rachel's face that she won't get to explore the musically vibrant area and suddenly she's overcome with joy that almost every motel they visit is without room. She really wants revenge for her 6am wake up call.

They wander the streets of Nashville just as the last streaks of sun disappear from the sky, searching for somewhere to eat. Brittany pushes Artie's wheelchair, but doesn't let Santana leave her side. Santana links arms with Quinn, finding it easy to relax, and tries to coax a smile from her by kicking loose stones at the backs of Rachel's legs. The one she gets doesn't have much heart put into it.

/

The boys demand as much meat as possible and they find a steakhouse that satisfies them beyond measure, but leaves Rachel muttering about limited vegetarian options.

Santana orders her first burger of the _Taco and Burger Tour of America _and laughs easily as the music sets the mood and her friends smile and joke around her.

The food arrives and Rachel ends up only being able to eat a salad and some fries. Santana attacks her burger like the cow is still alive and might run away. But Brittany's fond eyes gaze over her, reaching up to wipe away the ketchup that smudges her chin with the pad of her thumb, and Santana smiles despite how ridiculous she might look.

She starts to think that maybe something good could come of this trip after all.

/

They head back to the hotel. Kurt, Blaine, Rachel and Finn head back to their room with Mercedes and Sam following after them, and leave the rest of them behind in the hallway. Tina and Mike don't leave for their room a minute too soon and they're making out against the door as Mike struggles for the key.

(Santana makes a mental note to buy new bed sheets for her Grandma's bedrooms when they get to Florida, just so she can throw them away when they leave. It's the only thing she can think to do that doesn't make her want to vomit.)

Puck rolls his eyes once their door is closed, and leads the girls and Artie into their room, instantly heading for his bag. He pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels and waggles his eyebrows.

Santana shakes her head when he offers her the bottle first and heads for the bathroom, set on finally getting some sleep. There's no way she's driving hungover, and she's glad when Brittany agrees and follows after her. They're brushing their teeth when Santana hears the balcony door slide open and the other three heading outside.

She crawls into the bed after taking off her shorts and sneakily taking off her bra. Brittany follows leaving them in nothing but their tank tops and underwear and, for the first time, it doesn't feel like the most comfortable thing in the world. They lay side by side awkwardly, watching the shadows of their friends talking quietly out on the balcony.

"How are you tired?" Santana whispers with a breathy chuckle. "You spent the whole day sleeping."

Brittany turns on her side and shifts closer. "I'm not," she says softly. "I just missed you."

Santana takes a deep breath and resists the urge to turn over and bury her face into Brittany's neck, soak in the smell of her skin from two days of driving. Instead, she reaches for Brittany's hand and tugs it to rest on her stomach.

She did the same thing when they were in New York and cramped up on the couch in the corner of the room. Brittany had been so close that she could feel every inch of her. Santana's pretty sure she didn't fall asleep those few nights they shared that small width of space, but blacked out from the effort of trying so hard not to touch her.

"I'm really glad you decided to have this trip," Brittany whispers when Santana doesn't say anything. "I like it that you let everyone come along. I'm glad that I got to come too."

Santana sighs then because responding to that is easy. "Me too."

Brittany shifts to share Santana's pillow and soon her arm is wrapped around Santana's waist. Santana tilts her head to look at her, their noses touching softly. It doesn't surprise her as much as it should when she notices that her arm has wormed its way around Brittany's back or that her hands are clinging to the fabric of her shirt.

They move closer at the same time. It's such a familiar action, to kiss goodnight. They used to do it all the time, but Santana can't remember the last time they actually did and pauses reluctantly. Things are different now, in a way that she both loves and hates at the same time.

It takes a minute or two, but Brittany nudges their noses together again, coaxing her forward to make the first move and letting her know it's okay. She does it gladly, eyes fluttering closed as her mouth moves closer...

"Quinn needs ice," Puck sing-songs as the balcony door slides open with a crash. They break apart, but he barely notices them anyway as he makes his way quickly through the room and out the door.

Santana waits a few moments before turning in Brittany's arms. Brittany understands the motion instantly and wraps her arms around Santana's body until they're spooned tightly together. Her face buries itself in Santana's hair and Santana lulls into a deep sleep at the feel of Brittany's breath steady against her neck.

With their hands locked over her stomach beneath the covers, she finds her first bit of peace.

/

Santana wakes at 5am with Quinn laying beside her. She stinks of Jack Daniels and cigarettes. That uncorroborated sense of guilt Santana felt yesterday tugs at her chest but it feels different and not really like guilt at all.

She reaches over and tangles her fingers with Quinn's, just in case.

/

Rachel wakes them at 7am, much to their disapproval. Santana throws the pillow beneath hers and Brittany's heads at the door, and Quinn just covers her face with the one she'd been resting on, groaning in pain.

Brittany switches to using Santana's shoulder as a pillow and Artie stares around the room, trying to focus his eyes without his glasses.

Puck doesn't even stir.

/

They leave for Memphis on the scheduled time that the itinerary says they should. Everyone's dressed, fed and watered; Santana has a fresh cup of coffee in the cup holder beside her, and she feels better about today than she did yesterday.

Brittany sits behind Santana instead of beside her, choosing to waste away the three and a half hour journey by watching episodes _Friends_ on the DVD players set in the back of Santana's headrests. Quinn sits beside Santana, Artie next to Brittany with Puck laid out in the back clutching his stomach. The three of them are hung over and manage to sleep the entire journey, even with Brittany giggling every few minutes at something Joey says.

/

They arrive in Memphis around noon and head straight for Graceland. Rachel jumps out of the car and looks strangely excited even though she's never expressed a fondness for the King before.

She sings "Burning Love" all the way up to the entrance, garnering stares from everyone around them until Kurt stops her and kindly asks why, of all the songs in Elvis's catalog, she chose that one.

It makes them feel all the more awkward when she informs them it's what her dads used to sing to each other on Sunday mornings after date night.

/

Santana doesn't know why she agreed to this part of the trip. Rachel walks around telling them about Graceland and seems to know more of its history than most of the tour guides. Finn gets confused by half the things that she's saying and grows a strange obsession with Elvis's kitchen. Sam spends the entire time doing impressions, and Kurt just continually comments on the tackiness of the décor, no matter how many obese old ladies wearing Elvis shirts can hear.

The Jungle room is kinda cool though, and Brittany is genuinely confused to how there's grass inside. They walk through the rest of the house, admiring all the artifacts and eyeing all of Elvis' gold records. Puck follows behind them with Artie, both of them deciding what they'll do with their own Gracelands once they're huge, world-famous rock stars. Artie's greatest desire is a spiral ramp instead of a staircase, Puck's is a room for his harem of half-naked chicks in a hot tub.

Santana listens to them for a while, but when they start talking about video games, she goes back to listening to the tour. It gets kind of boring after a while. There's only so much Elvis she can take. She's pretty sure if she doesn't leave now she'll _never_ be able to get "Suspicious Minds" out of her head.

/

Next stop on the Memphis tour is to see Sam Phillips' Sun Studio. Puck almost pees his pants at the sight of the birth place of rock and roll, and he and Rachel squeal for an hour about what it must have been like back in the day.

Santana chooses to wander up and down the street with Quinn. She's been quiet all day and Santana's starting to think it's not just the hangover that's dragging her down. She has that feeling again, tugging at her chest, and it starts to frustrate her that she can't seem to identify it. She just knows that something's not right.

"You okay?" she asks softly. The words feel foreign on her tongue.

Quinn nods and doesn't say anything. They walk up and down the street in silence.

/

The thirteen of them end up walking around Memphis for hours, relishing in a new place and new air, another corner of the world where no one knows who they are.

Santana stands between Quinn and Brittany at the back of the group. The back of her hand keeps brushing against Brittany's and she wants nothing more in the world than to feel comfortable enough to just tangle their fingers together and not let go.

Instead, she links their pinkies together and squeezes. For a while, it's enough.

/

They end up in an old bar that only plays the songs of the artists that made the area famous. It's like jumping back in time.

Brittany and Mike charm the manager with their too-fast dancing and he gives them all a free dinner for brightening up his day. When the food arrives, Brittany and Mike flop onto their empty chairs exhausted. The entire restaurant applauds them and Tina leans over to press a proud kiss to Mike's lips.

Jealousy begins to bubble inside of Santana and she purses her lips to tamp it down. She watches as they giggle together and whisper things in each others ears. She tears her eyes away, not willing to torture herself anymore, only to be greeted with Rachel, giggling with Finn, and Kurt and Blaine leaning in close as they whisper like there's no one else in the room. Even Mercedes and Sam seem more interested in each other than the rest of their friends and Quinn's talking intently with Puck and Artie.

Brittany's hand falls to her knee beneath the table and squeezes. She leans in close to whisper into Santana's ear while no one's looking, leaving her face there a few seconds to wallow in the feel of being so close to one another.

Santana sighs at the touch of Brittany's nose running over the tender spot below her ear, of her breath so soft against her skin. For a moment, she feels like she fits in, like she's just like everyone else.

"One day," Brittany tells her softly. Santana closes her eyes as hope and fear battle against each other in her chest.

_One day,_ she repeats and maybe for a moment she can actually believe it.

/

They're waiting for desert and coffee when Elvis's "Can't Help Falling In Love" starts playing.

Santana watches and almost laughs at how easily it is for all her friends to migrate to the dance floor, like it's the only thing left to do in the universe.

Tina and Mike are first, smiling all the way there and wrapping their bodies around each other as soon as they arrive. Finn and Rachel are next, Finn nudging her softly until she blushes and lets him lead her to the floor. Blaine rolls his eyes at Kurt when Kurt holds out his hand and raises an eyebrow, but from the way that his eyes twinkle at his boyfriend's smile, Santana can tell that it's the only thing he wants. That bubble of curiosity grows in Santana's stomach again when Sam clears his throat and asks Mercedes if she wants to dance, but it stops abruptly when she sees the way that they smile at each other.

Santana looks at the rest of the table, eyes soft when she sees Artie kindly offer Quinn his hand. She smiles at him before nodding, and the pair head out onto the dance floor. Quinn sits on his lap and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing their cheeks together as he slowly wheels them around the dance floor.

She turns to catch Brittany watching them with a fond smile on her face. Her heart lurches in her chest, pounding wildly. Brittany turns to her with sad eyes and Santana knows that the sadness isn't because Artie is dancing with Quinn or because she's not dancing at all. It's because of her, because Brittany knows that it'll be a long time before they get to dance together like everyone else does.

Brittany's smile is resigned to that truth and she turns back to watch their friends in silence. They're the only people in the room not dancing, the only people not pressed against the warmth and comfort of another human body. Santana opens her mouth to utter the words, to ask, but her mouth just opens and closes unable to say them.

Brittany reaches over and hooks their pinkies together and Santana gives up.

/

They don't care that they're three hours behind schedule when they finally leave Memphis. They had too much fun and Earl, the owner of the bar, tells them they should come back to visit on their way back through when they go home.

They all wholeheartedly agree and Brittany even hugs Earl and promises to give him dancing lessons if his hip's better by the time they come back. Earl's wife Loretta packs three bags of snacks and sandwiches for them to take, forcing them to reassure her that they'll make sure they eat and get some sleep so she doesn't worry.

Not even when they all finally find Puck making out with one of their daughters by the restroom does Earl or Loretta offer them any ill words.

Driving well into the night doesn't seem such a tough deal when they're making friends with good and friendly people.

Plus, Earl makes one mean pot of coffee which he fills three flasks with and demands Santana, Blaine and Mike take one each for the seven hour journey that gladly awaits them.

/

Santana watches in her rear view mirror as, one by one, her friends all fall asleep. It's been a long day and the thought that they have a few more like it left to go makes something inside of her ache.

Only Brittany remains awake beside her, watching and counting the road signs as they pass.

"I'm sorry," Santana whispers softly, keeping her eyes on the road.

Neither of them have mentioned it, but Brittany knows why she's apologizing.

She glances sideways to see if Brittany heard and catches her checking in the rear view to see if the others are asleep. Once she's satisfied that they are, she tangles their fingers together over the center arm rest and Santana's chest burns.

Brittany falls asleep like that, with their fingers tangled together and her head resting against the window.

/

Around Jackson, Mississippi, Blaine radios in that he needs gas.

They pass a gas station twenty minutes later and she's the first to pull in, rolling up to one of the pumps and jumping out of the car. Blaine pulls in second, Mike swiftly after him and they both jump out of their cars to quietly greet her. Santana notices that, just like her her, all of their passengers are fast asleep.

Santana shivers as she steps towards pump, following their lead. She hates getting gas. Hates the smell of it if she accidentally gets some on her hands, which she almost always does, and hates how it lingers for days. Plus, you never know how many truck drivers have scratched their asses and touched those things. She doesn't even like to think about where else their hands might have been.

"Here, I'll get it," Blaine says, jumping in quickly. Santana glances to his car, where he already has the nozzle resting in his inlet. She mumbles a thanks and rubs her eyes tiredly. Blaine offers her a kind smile. "You look exhausted."

She scoffs, but gives him a half-smile in return anyway. "Starting to regret this whole driving there thing."

Concern coats his features, "We should stop for a while. Get a little rest before we hit the road again. It's dangerous driving for this long without a break. We could get coffee in the diner. I don't think anyone would mind."

Santana nods, too tired to argue.

/

Mike decides to have a nap instead and asks them to wake him up before they leave. Santana knows if she goes to sleep she'll never wake up, so she follows after Blaine as they walk across the forecourt to the diner.

"Hang on," she mumbles as goosebumps form all over her arms. "I forgot my jacket."

She runs back and grabs it, slipping it on over yet another tank top. She readies herself to head over to Blaine, but stops when she hears gentle shivers from inside the car. She turns to find the source and sighs when she notices that all of them are quivering from the drop in the temperature.

She figures it's okay to show her kind side while they're sleeping. She rolls her eyes and rounds to the back of the car, waving a hand at Blaine to tell him she'll catch up. She pops the back of the car and delves around inside, not really caring if anything falls on Puck because she's pretty sure she could sing _Don't Stop Believing_ at the top of her lungs into his ear canal and he wouldn't even stir.

She finds the few blankets her mother made her bring with them in case there wasn't enough, and adds it to the one that she keeps in there anyway. She finds a pillow and grabs that too and rests everything atop the car as she takes one blanket and lays it lazily over Puck. She gathers everything and climbs into the front seat, leaning over the chairs to get to Quinn and Artie. Quinn sighs softly when Santana draws the blanket up to her chin to cover her shoulders. Artie yawns when she tucks the blanket around him so that it doesn't fall off of his legs.

But when she gets to Brittany, she can't help but stop and stare. The way the too-bright gas station lighting hits her face shouldn't make her look so beautiful, but it does. It fights with the pitch black of the darkness until Santana can see how every curve and contour of her face looks more perfect than should be allowed.

She gulps as she uses the blanket she always keeps in the car to cover over Brittany's bare legs and arms. Her mind flickers to all the times that she and Brittany put down the seats in the back of her car and lay on their backs to look up at the stars through the sunroof. Some nights they would end up making out, but most of them they would just stare up at the sky and dream of places far, far away.

It would be simple to say that things were easier back then, but it wouldn't be true. It was hard. It was hard to lay beside Brittany and pretend that she didn't want to just roll over and hold her close without their clothes coming off or their lips battling. It was hard not to chuckle 'I love you' every time Brittany pointed up to the sky and made up a constellation. Everything was so hard then, but it's even harder now.

She sighs and draws the blanket up around Brittany's shoulders. Her fingers push the hair back from Brittany's face as she slowly shifts her to slip the pillow between her head and the door. Brittany stirs, but Santana's there, making gentle sounds to lull her back into sleep. She settles easily with Santana's nose pressed to her hair.

Santana takes a deep breath and can't help herself.

"I love you," she whispers almost silently. Brittany's skin warms as Santana presses a kiss to her forehead. She hums contently in response.

/

The waitress follows her as she makes her way over to Blaine, instantly pouring her a cup of coffee as she sits down. He says nothing, but stares at her like he's the only nerd in class who knows the answer to a really hard math problem. She quickly becomes uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze.

"What?" she says, pushing her hair away from her face and shrinking into herself.

Blaine smiles and sips his coffee, picks at the blueberry muffin in front of him. "Does she know?" he asks and Santana's heart drops.

Her automatic response to scoff leaves her before she can control it. Denial seeps into her bones and she rolls her eyes at him in refusal. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She's a little shocked when he doesn't push it, but he doesn't stop staring at her and maybe, Santana thinks, her math problem is not really a hard math problem at all.

/

They arrive in New Orleans at almost five am. They don't even bother looking for their motel this early in the morning. They assume it would be useless considering that its front desk probably wouldn't be open yet. They just find somewhere quiet outside the city and fall quickly asleep.

Before she drifts off to sleep, Santana feels Brittany tangle their fingers over the arm rest again, underneath the edge of her blanket.


	3. Part 2

Rachel wakes them at seven am by banging on her drivers side door demanding that they hurry to the hotel so that she can begin her daily hygiene ritual. Santana's so exhausted that she she barely manages a roll of her eyes.

Even when she doesn't let up and keeps banging on the window, Santana doesn't throttle her until she's purple. She calmly does the one of the few things she said she'd never do, and lets someone else drive her car.

It makes for an incredibly interesting journey when Brittany's at the head of their fleet of cars, but to everyone except Santana's shock, they make it to the hotel in record time.

/

No one argues with her when she gets to the room and faceplants onto the bed. Not that they would be able to, she blacks out instantly and sleeps like the dead.

/

There are shopping bags everywhere when she wakes up. It's mid-afternoon and she feels a little better for having some uninterrupted sleep, but not for the crowd sitting at the foot of the bed watching _SpongeBob._

"Oh, you're awake," Rachel says brightly when she sees her sit up and stare around in bewilderment. "We're having a group meeting."

Her back cracks awkwardly and her hands spring to support it with a groan. "Why is it, that wherever we go, this club always has to have a _damn_ group meeting?"

Rachel shrinks away slightly, even though her face is wide with a smile. "It was Noah's idea," she says, like that makes it any better.

Suddenly the TV's turned off surrounded by a chorus of disgruntled groans. Twelve sets of eyes are instantly staring at her, waiting, and she wonders when in the hell she became the ringleader of this pathetic excuse for a circus.

"What?" she says, still rubbing her back and silently cursing the crappy hotel mattress. Two hands come to her aid and she turns to see Brittany suddenly behind her, massaging her back like it's nine months ago and the end of Cheerios practice.

And they both know how that often ended: in a predicament that's definitely not for the eyes of their teammates.

The memory doesn't help Santana from keeping her mind off the fact that Brittany's hands are rhythmically kneading the muscles at the base of her spine. In fact, it instantly makes her think of a better place where the heel of her hand could be pressed and more wonderful places where her fingers could find themselves digging into hot, wet –

She coughs to clear her head and turns out of Brittany's reach to lean back against the headboard. Her cheeks are flushed but she's pretty sure she can blame that on the heat. It doesn't stop Brittany from narrowing her eyes in innocent recognition. She's too familiar with the look that adorns Santana's face.

Santana coughs again. Awkwardly.

There's already something about this city she can't quite put her finger on.

/

They kindly wait for Santana to have brushed her teeth and washed her face before they start the meeting. She sneakily slips in her contacts and blinks at the burn they leave in her tired eyes. She should have got some eye drops.

Puck's standing in the front of the off TV when she gets back, but Finn and Sam still wrestle for the remote.

"We're going out tonight," Puck tells them pointedly. "All night, hardcore, don't-remember-our-own-name-when-we-wake-up levels of rocking this town. We can't let this opportunity pass us by."

Rachel raises her hand. Thankfully, Mercedes swats it down before Santana can say anything. "While I agree that we should use this opportunity to experience this beautiful city to the fullest, I don't think that using the time we have to get drunk is in our best interests. Perhaps we should spend the short duration we have here soaking up the culture and history in order to improve ourselves as performers and artists."

The entire team looks at her blankly.

"Yeah, we could do that," Sam starts.

"Or we could have fun," Kurt raises his eyebrows at Rachel and she backs down immediately.

"Fine."

Quinn takes in a lazy and indifferent breath. "There's one problem, though. We've got to get up at six am tomorrow. Without fail."

Santana throws her hands up. "There's no way I'm driving seven hundred miles tomorrow on anything less than six hours sleep. Guaranteed. Y'all can argue what we do all you want. But when it comes to my involvement, we're back by midnight, or you perish in a fiery three car pile-up."

They all groan in disappointment, but from the looks in Mike and Blaine's eyes, Santana knows that she'll get no disagreement from them.

/

They decide to go for an early dinner, visit a jazz club (just to keep Rachel happy), before heading out to one of the gay nightclubs in the French quarter under Kurt's insistence.

Everyone's kind of reluctant of that one except for Blaine and Rachel. Santana doesn't say anything, torn between her instinctive reaction to refuse and her natural need to be curious. Brittany looks at her like she needs her to say something, but instead Santana simply looks down into her lap and listens to them argue.

It's not until Kurt manages to bargain with Puck that he'll probably get to see girls making out, which is more action than he'd probably get anyway, that everyone agrees. Finn, Sam, Artie, and Mike especially.

/

All the guys go into one of the other hotel rooms and the girls and Kurt come into hers. Kurt sits on the couch and makes all the girls unpack their suitcases and it turns into some makeshift fashion show as they parade around the room in the few outfits each of them have.

Santana already knows what she's wearing and she emerges from the bathroom in her little black dress with a smirk of pride. That smirk falls instantly when she sees Kurt fussing around Brittany in her ridiculously short sequined number and instead she feels that warmth she felt earlier, flushing over her cheeks and between her thighs.

She'd never admit it, but if there's one thing Kurt Hummel was born to do, it's pick out the perfect dress. He even manages to make Berry look hot and the fleeting thought makes Santana want to bleach her eyes.

/

It crosses her mind that the last time she was this dressed up was Nationals. Ever since then it's been a long line of her usual extra-tight dresses and tank tops with short shorts. It feels weird to be so gussied up, to be making herself look so beautiful, just to spend the evening with her friends. Still, it's fun. A lot more fun than anything Lima, Ohio has to offer.

Brittany shoots her a smile in the mirror as they apply their make-up, eyeing her up and down before nodding gently in approval. Santana stares back, squeezing her legs together tightly as blue eyes grow dark and smokey.

It shouldn't matter so much that Brittany approves, but she does and Santana feels lighter because of it. More relaxed and something else that she _really_ doesn't need to be feeling now.

It's not until she catches sight of Quinn struggling to apply her mascara in the corner of the room that all those feelings abruptly go away. Those urges she's spent the last few hours chastising herself for are replaced with that sensation deep in Santana's gut that's becoming so familiar it's almost normal. She would gladly endure the torture of those teasing urges if this feeling would leave her alone. She heads towards Quinn and kneels down in front of her. She fights when Santana tries to take the mascara wand from her, but it's barely a moment before she's weakly relenting her hold and lowering the mirror in her hand.

Santana's barely aware of Brittany standing behind her, watching as Quinn takes deep and uneven breaths to calm herself down. They don't talk, but after a couple of minutes, Brittany moves behind Quinn and wraps her arms around her neck, hugging her close and keeping her steady.

For the first time in a long time, Santana catches Brittany's eye and the last thing on her mind is their long list of problems.

/

Quinn goes to the bathroom and, by the time she comes back, it's like the moment was just another shared figment of Santana and Brittany's imaginations.

/

It's hard to believe what she's seeing when she eyes the small laminated card that Puck shoves in her hand. Her mouth opens in shock, and she doesn't know whether to laugh or kick him square in the balls.

Before she can do anything, Quinn sighs. "Do you really think these are going to work?"

Santana looks down at the fake ID in her hands. Christina Gonzalez... imaginative.

Puck holds his arms out protectively against the dozen pairs of eyes looking at him like he's an idiot. "These things are legit. Some guy I know works down at the DMV and he said that they make them _exactly_ the same way!"

"This is so illegal," Artie mumbles wearily. Beside him, Santana rolls her eyes. "Where did you get the pictures from? And who in da hell picked these cracky-ass names?"

"Don't worry about it," Puck says with no room for argument. "And I did."

"Kostas Papadakis?" Blaine mumbles to himself, then shows it to Kurt before looking up at Puck. "Um. Why am I Greek?"

Puck simply shrugs. "Sorry, bro."

Tina and Mike both scoff as they compare names. "Mo Ling and Fa Chi? Really, Puck?"

Quinn leans forward suddenly, to where Brittany's sitting in front of her holding hers, confused, and grabs it out of her hands. "'Happy Johnson'?" she reads. Puck snorts, as do most of the males in the room. "Puck, that's gross."

"I don't get it," Brittany says, looking up at Quinn from her place on the floor. "What's yours?"

Quinn glares at Puck. "Jane Addams."

"What?" Puck says defensively. "You've got that angry girl thing down and I figured, if anything goes wrong, Brittany will be able to flirt with the doorman and sweet talk her way in. She could tell him everyone needs a Happy Johnson."

"I like mine," Rachel says over the immature snorts. "I sound like a Broadway star." She stands up. "Patti Stanwick," she announces like it should be in bright neon lights.

"I like mine too," Finn nods. "Victor Smith. Simple."

"No one is ever going to believe that these are real," Kurt says shaking his head. "They're ridiculous."

"Shut up, Roland Everett," Puck says. "Just because your fake name isn't as good as Clint Eastoe."

"That's the worst fake name I've ever heard," Mercedes says. "At least mine's believable. Loretta Franklin. I guess I should be happy about -"

"Dustin Beaverman?" Sam suddenly shouts. "I _just_ got it. God, Puck, why do you have to be such an asshole?"

Puck's excuse is drowned out over the sound of everyone laughing.

/

Before they leave, Puck pulls out the Jack and pours them all a shot in the plastic hotel cups. From the way it burns and settles deliciously smooth heat low in her stomach, Santana can tell that this is going to be quite a night.

/

Rachel picks some Creole joint where none of them recognize half of what's on the menu, and most of them end up picking steak. It's overpriced and dark and there's some sultry jazz band playing. Santana's sure that she'd normally be bored coming to a restaurant like this. Her friends are making out or talking again, but she doesn't get to dwindle on how alone or jealous she is because Brittany's watching her from across the table, her eyes dark and smokey again, thick with a stare she hasn't felt warm under in a while.

But right now, she definitely feels _warm_.

The music speeds up and couples move to the dance floor. Shockingly, Sam and Mercedes are the first ones on the dance floor. The realization of what's going on there barely breaks her train of thought, but it does, before Santana feels a smooth ankle skimming against her own. Her brain snaps back to being all _BrittanyBrittanyBrittany_without missing a beat.

She finds it impossible to look away from her, even when Brittany's eyes are faced away and she's talking with Quinn and Artie. Instead of concentrating on her meal or her friends or acting like a normal human being, Santana tries to count how long it's been instead.

When Brittany's toes skim the backs of her knees and she almost moans out loud in the middle of the bustling restaurant, Santana, without a doubt, knows what the answer is: Too long.

/

The streets are full and lively, full of bright colors that block out any memories of the dreary backdrop of Lima, Ohio.

There's a brass band playing on a street corner and Brittany and Mike dance because they can, because they want to, and because nobody cares. Santana's heart flips in her chest when she realizes that peoples' lives can actually be like this.

/

The club is pulsing with people. Santana sits against a far wall with Quinn and Artie as they sip on their drinks and enjoy the atmosphere.

They're in a gay club, quickly vetoing the jazz club idea when they saw that it was playing low, soul-sucking tunes that spoke of sadness and woe without the color and tempo that they longed for. They have little time left in this town and they need to make sure every minute counts.

Santana wishes that she had enough alcohol or fearlessness to do exactly that, embracing this life for the first time and seeing what the rest of her life could be like.

She needs to be like Brittany, who's been dancing between two women for the last half an hour now and shooting challenging, teasing glances her way every few seconds.

Santana really hates that she's not drunk enough to ignore that she can see every single one of her friends. Usually, she's totally awesome at doing that when she's sober. Alcohol and the constant thump-thump of blood rushing to all the right parts of her body is suddenly making that impossible and all she's aware of is that Rachel's dancing with Finn nearby where Kurt's all over Blaine. And that Mike and Tina have been making out to the left of the door that leads to the rest room ever since they arrive and that Sam and Mercedes have been dancing to the heavy dance beat over in the other corner now for a while. God only knows where Puckerman is.

It doesn't bother her that Brittany's sandwiched between two incredibly hot, twenty-something women (okay, it _totally_does) until the one in front is leaning forward and whispering something into her ear. Brittany giggles and, even though Santana's too far away to hear it, she knows that sound better than anything else. It rises like smoke and intoxicates her senses and she shifts closer in her chair, aching to hear it.

When the one behind Brittany leans forward to nuzzle into her neck, Santana's on her feet before she knows what she's doing, stepping forward until she's a foot away and glaring between the women.

"Uh, what are you doing?" she asks softly, barely audible over the vibrating of the music, but it's not the words that she cares about. It's the disgusted look she plasters easily onto her face, her no-nonsense glare that tells these bitches they've taken a wrong step into her territory.

(In the back of her mind, she think she should be pissed that Brittany's probably been orchestrating everything to lead to this moment. This moment where she rightfully claims what isn't hers but sure as hell should be).

"We're just..." the one in front says, stepping back. The one behind is drunk, too drunk. Santana already knows that if she doesn't knock her out, it won't take long before she's flat on her back anyway.

"Well, don't." She tilts her chin up and catches sight of the dark, lustful look on Brittany's face. This is what she's wanted. These are people they don't know, that won't ever know them and all Brittany wants is for someone to know that she belongs to Santana. And because Santana's too stubborn and too territorial, Brittany knows exactly how to get what she wants. Brittany _always_knows how to get what she wants.

She steps closer to the women and holds up a hand to stop her when her mouth opens. "No," she says. "You take your little friend and you _walk away,_ or I kick your ass. That's it. No arguments. Go."

It takes about twenty seconds, but then they're scuttling away and Santana's left with Brittany amidst a crowd of moving and pulsating bodies. And she didn't really plan this far ahead or think about Brittany's reaction, because she doesn't know what to do anymore. Maybe Brittany _wanted_ to dance with those girls. Maybe she was flaunting her prowess in Santana's face as punishment.

But, no. That's not nearly it. Not when Brittany wraps one arm around her waist and the other around her neck and tugs her into the crowd. That's not it at all.

"Took you long enough," Brittany says and then Santana's yanked into the crowd until she disappears, becoming another one of the nameless, moving entities in the room, tethered only to the world by the hand around her waist and the mouth against her neck.

/

Brittany doesn't let go of her the whole way back to the hotel and remains pressed to her back like when they were dancing. Santana hasn't been this drunk at ten-thirty since she was fourteen and went to her first party, but here she is, being held up by her best friend as they stumble in through the hotel lobby.

She's _really_ drunk, and the strangest part is that she knows she's really drunk. Her body feels the familiar overwhelming sluggishness of the alcohol dragging her down, but her mind feels buzzed enough that she actually wonders what was in those shots Puck kept plying them with. For once, she doesn't feel the need to burst into tears about the most random things.

Her fingers clutch at Brittany's, wrapped around her stomach, making sure she won't let go, even though Brittany's grip is so sure and tight Santana begins to wonder if she's been drinking at all. There's some far away alarm bell that rings in her mind, warning her that this probably isn't the best idea she's ever had, but she ignores it in favor of giving in to the throb that aches between her legs and in her chest with unstoppable desperation.

Like her guaranteed hangover, she settles to deal with the consequences in the morning. For now, she'll have the fun.

/

"Party in our room. Mercedes brought her iPod speakers," Sam says and in a moment of drunken lucidity Santana questions why no one has asked why Sam and Mercedes ended up sharing a room. But almost as quickly as it's there, it's gone, because Brittany's stumbling down the hall pressed against her back, giggling against her ear.

In a moment of mixed messages fired in her brain, she somehow manages to get Brittany pressed up against the wall as she turns to their friends.

"Um, I'm going to bed," she slurs, watching as Puck rolls his eyes and turns to the girl beside her.

"Britt?" he says and Santana completely lets go of Brittany's hands tangled in the small space between them, to let her join in the fun.

"I think I'm going to go to bed too," she agrees, pushing herself off the wall and stumbling as she falls into Santana. "Night night, Pucky," she sighs dreamily, flailing her hand in a wave as they fight to hold one another upright.

With the inability to compute more than one thought at a time, Santana stares after her friends as they disappear into their separate hotel rooms.

The ache in between her legs starts to feel like a punch.

/

Brittany slides the chain lock on the door in place before turning to her. They kind of stare for a moment, heavy eyes searching before anything actually happens.

When it does, Santana groans.

One of Brittany's hands slides around her neck and the other around her waist. She forces Santana against the wall beside the bathroom and sandwiches her there with her body. Her mouth opens to say something, but Brittany shakes her head and she stops. Her head tilts back against the wall and regrets slipping her heels off in the elevator because now she's too short. The shoes fall from her grasp, but neither of them notices the sound when Brittany leans in, teasing her softly with a barely-there graze of her top lip against Santana's.

She doesn't know if it's the booze, or the rush of adrenaline she's still feeling from claiming Brittany in the club, but the way Brittany looks at her makes her shiver. She quakes from head to toe, her eyes drooping heavily, as she clings hopelessly at Brittany's hip to stay upright. It really has been a while, and it's definitely never been like this.

Noses bump together, eyes close and Santana takes in an uneven breath as Brittany grinds their bodies together. "I miss you," she mutters, and the throaty, rough timbre of her voice says more than her words do.

Santana knows that Brittany doesn't miss her; she misses _this_, them, alone in the dark. She misses the feel of their bodies touching and how it was when they first kissed and everything changed, leaving them with the knowledge that just one kiss would never be enough. The only way to be fully satisfied was to be touching everywhere.

She falls flat against the bed and gasps because she hadn't even realized they were moving. Her eyes darken with want when Brittany crawls up the bed after her and straddles her thighs. Her dress disappears across the room like a shooting star, the sparkly fabric twinkling in Brittany's eyes before it's gone. Santana feels her mouth fall open in awe and she stares unabashedly as Brittany reaches behind her and unhooks her bra with one hand.

Santana wastes no time, pulling Brittany down to her by the back of the neck. Their lips graze just once before Brittany's pulling back to look at her.

"Say it," Brittany demands softly.

The sudden reminder that this isn't two years ago and this definitely isn't just about the ache between her legs, draws an uneven breath from her mouth and a lazy smile onto her lips. She suddenly really wishes she wasn't drunk.

Her fingers play with the soft sweat-formed curls at the back of Brittany's neck. She pulls at the tie of her ponytail and hums in approval at the feel of Brittany's golden blonde hair as it falls to curtain them in secrecy.

Even though they're in an empty room alone, she can't help but whisper the words. "I love you," she says, and as always they break slightly as they leave her lips. "I love you."

Hands cup her cheeks and, though inebriated, Brittany manages to look at her with startling clarity. "You love me," she repeats and Santana pauses before she nods to agree that, yes, she does. "You love me," Brittany smiles again. "You love me and I love you. For tonight, that's all that matters."

Santana understands what Brittany's giving her and knows she would be stupid if she wasted it. Her brow furrows, but then Brittany nudges their noses together and she takes the leap. She pulls Brittany forward again, their lips colliding together as her hand slides down the curve of her spine. It's so hard to forget this, but it never takes away the rush of pleasure she feels when she gets to remember anyway. Her mouth opens under Brittany's and she moans into the darkness of her mouth as Brittany rolls to pull Santana atop her.

It's a struggle to get off her tight black dress, but they manage, fingers working together in a way they've spent years mastering. It's always been the same: they're great when they're apart but, when they're together, it's like magic. Sometimes, Santana thinks she could defy every law of physics just so she could feel their skin touching. It's the only way she feels alive.

Brittany's palms span her stomach, long fingers stroking over every curve. She inhales deeply, kissing sloppily. Brittany's fingers are so close, so gloriously close that for a moment, she stops breathing in anticipation. All she can hear is the rhythmic pounding of her heart against her ribcage and the rib-rattling gasps that leave Brittany's throat as she strokes her finger against the edge of Santana's underwear.

"Please," she whispers softly, eyes closing as her head spins. Brittany's fingers dip easily below her underwear, like it's not even there and Santana groans as fingers skate along her. It feels like her world is ending.

Until the door is opening the few inches the chain lock allows and light is beaming in and basking them in reality.

"Lopez, you in there? We got a crisis here! Berry's gone missing!"

She's going to kill her.

/

It takes her a moment to calm down. It's the closest they've ever come to being caught and she's never been more glad for enough forethought to lock a damn door. Brittany sits behind her as she perches on the edge of the bed, trying to readjust her bra, with a soothing hand on her shoulder.

She wants to be angry, so damn angry, but all she can manage to be is scared. She's shaking and she can't stop, her entire body quivering with a mix of unsatisfied arousal, terror, fear and constant shame as she grabs for any clothes she can find.

When Brittany presses a pacifying kiss to her shoulder, she lets the tank top in her hands fall to the floor and her face to take its place.

"He didn't see," Brittany whispers when she starts to sob a little. Strong arms wrap around her body. "It's okay, it's okay, he didn't see anything. He just thought we were asleep."

Santana turns in Brittany's embrace and kisses her fast and rough before pulling away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Fingers brush the tears from her cheeks, smiling at her fondly. "It's okay."

Santana quickly leans down for the tank and slips it on over her head, reaching for her shorts. "Stay here, okay? We're probably going to be on a manhandshunt for a while, so just stay here and wait for me," she kisses her again and Brittany nods as she crawls under the covers. "I'm sorry."

Brittany simply smiles.

/

Puck's not in the hallway when she closes the door behind her, instructing Brittany to put the chain back on behind her. The only words she seems to be able to produce are low and angry Spanish. Mixed with the way she keeps tugging her bra back into place, she looks like a real crazy bitch as she storms down the hallway to where she knows Finn and Rachel's room is.

If they've found her and she'd just fell down the toilet or something, Santana's going to be Fury-of-God levels of pissed. Scratch that. She already _is_that level of pissed.

So pissed that she storms into Rachel Berry's hotel room without knocking.

"I swear to God, Rachel Berry, I am going to – AY DIOS MIO!"

She covers her eyes and backs herself against the door. She's not sure whether to laugh or vomit as she tries to avoid looking at the two boys on the bed clad in nothing else but their boxers.

Scratch that. Only one of them is wearing their boxers.

"I could have gone my whole life not seeing that..." she mumbles to herself.

"Don't you knock?" Kurt squeals incredulously, almost breaking the sound barrier.

She doesn't say anything else, just grimaces and slips from the room before he can deafen her.

/

There's only a few of them left in Sam and Mercedes room when she gets there. Only they, Puck, Finn and Artie remain behind, sipping on some cheap beer Puck picked up on the way back from the club. Finn sits on the edge of the bed in just his undershirt and pants holding his head in his hands.

Strangely, Santana's first response is not the one she expects. She doesn't start yelling in Spanish or threatening to murder Rachel or hurl abuse at Finn; she actually cares about the answer she gets.

"Where's Quinn?" she demands, eyes growing wide.

Puck detaches himself from his beer bottle. "I thought she was with you."

Santana scoffs, panic rising in her for no reason whatsoever. "Uh, no, not unless she crawled up my ass."

Artie wheels himself forward before Puck can say something gross, and there's something in his worried eyes that tells her she's probably not the only one that's noticed something wrong with her best friend. "She said she was going to bed. About half an hour ago, she left and said she was going back to the room."

She shakes her head at him. Puck steps forward too to listen. "She never came back to the room," she says breathing unevenly.

The three of them share a look and something goes unspoken that no one else seems to notice.

/

Santana goes to check their room, while the Sam and Mercedes go to check Tina and Mike's room. Blaine and Kurt step out hearing the commotion and offer their services, avoiding each others eyes and Santana's.

Brittany gets that strange look too, when Santana tells her what's going on, and she gets up off the bed to come help look before Santana's even voiced any concern. Santana shakes her head and demands that she stay at the hotel, just in case Quinn comes back.

"So, what's happened to Rachel?" Brittany asks suddenly and Santana rolls her eyes.

"First time jitters," she explains receiving a knowing nod in response.

Santana grabs her cellphone for the first time in three days and heads out to follow after Puck and Artie who volunteered to check with the front desk to "avoid any hostility".

But not before Brittany's given her another kiss and told her to stay safe.

/

They head back to the French Quarter, wandering in and out of clubs on Bourbon Street they'd previously ignored, searching through all of them for signs of Rachel and Quinn.

After a while it becomes clear that they've come too far, the bright lively establishments filled with color becoming nothing more than dive bars and sleazy strip clubs she and Artie have to drag Puck from before he causes too much trouble. Trash covers the street, the scent of urine and vomit is fresh in the air, mixing with the musk of beer and stale cigarettes that lingers on the people standing outside.

Santana notices the way that Puck moves closer to her on one side, Artie on the other, as they all collectively begin to worry about their friends. All of a sudden, as red-faced old men and weary women catch eyes with them walking down the street, Santana begins to feel inexplicably young and incredibly scared.

/

"I swear to God and all that is holy, Lucy Quinn Fabray, if you do not answer you cellphone, I will cut more than your hair!" Santana hisses down the phone as they walk the streets. "Where the hell are you? It's one in the morning. We've got to be up in five hours to head to Florida and you're not in the damn hotel! Pick up your phone!"

/

Music comes from Frenchmen Street and Santana groans with the Rachel of it all. She'd spent an hour while they were getting ready talking about this place, talking about how she'd always wanted to come here, to sing here, to live the life of a true struggling artist and listen to smooth jazz while drinking Southern Comfort as she regales a barkeep with the tales of what her abusive boyfriend did to her.

Santana had snapped at her that her life wasn't _A Streetcar Name Desire_ and she had no hope of getting a boyfriend masculine enough to punch her; she'd have to be the dude shouting Stella up the staircase.

/

When they step up to the threshold of the first jazz club they see and find her sitting at the bar, drunk, nursing a glass of Southern Comfort, Santana looks at Puck, then at Artie, and rolls her eyes.

"...but I love him _so_ much and I want him to be my first, but it's so scary, you know? I'll never have that back and what if he's not the right one? What if he _leaves_ me again?" she sobs and Santana mentally takes note to dig at Finn that Rachel's the weepy, hysterical drunk now, not her. She's the level-headed drunk who misses out on sleep so she can save everyone's drunk asses. "And he slept with Santana! Santana Lopez! You don't know her but she's prettier than me, and her voice is sexier! She can get any boy or girl that she wants! She could have had anyone and she choose him! Why did she choose him?"

"You can have him," Santana says as Puck lifts Rachel off the bar stool easily. She slumps instantly and Puck barely takes a breath before he's throwing her over his shoulder. She turns to the barkeep and shrugs. "Sorry about her. What do we owe you?"

/

They walk around for another twenty minutes, stopping for five so that Rachel can puke in an alley.

"I think we should head back," Puck says after a minute. "No one at the hotel's been in contact for over an hour. They're probably all asleep and she's snuck back in. We should head back."

"No."

"Lopez."

"No."

"I agree with Santana," Artie says nervously. "It's not safe for Quinn to be out here alone. I read stories about homeless people who hang out by the Mississippi river and stuff online. I'd hate to think of what might happen to her left alone in a strange place. She could be hurt."

Santana's kind of never liked Artie Abrams more than at that moment, exhausted, irritated and having just watched Rachel Berry eat her dinner in reverse.

"You head back to the hotel," Artie tells Puck. "I'll stay with Santana. No one will bother a guy with a wheelchair."

/

Twenty minutes later, her phone buzzes.

_Marigny_is all it says.

/

After another twenty, they find her, sitting on a levee by the river in a part of town that looks a lot different to the New Orleans they've been looking at all day. Santana gulps nervously. It's hard to believe that there's still some places in this city that are still desolate and in disrepair. She doesn't understand why Quinn would want to come here. She sees the old train tracks and the old gutted houses with the same big X symbols she saw on the news all those years ago, left by the coastguard when they checked the houses in the aftermath of the hurricane.

Santana looks at Artie and uses all the friendliness she has to kindly ask him to give her a minute. He does, saying he'll wait here and watch them if she doesn't mind, but she gets the impression he doesn't really care too much about what happens to her, just her best friend.

She heads towards Quinn and drops down beside her. Her green dress still looks perfect, but her hair is beaten by wind and her mascara runs down her cheeks. Without saying anything, Santana wraps her arm around Quinn's bare shoulders and hugs her closer, even presses a kiss to the top of her cheek bone.

"I'm sorry," Quinn croaks out. "I just, I couldn't handle being in that hotel anymore. They were all over each other, all of them – Finn, Rachel, Kurt and Blaine, Tina, Mike. Even Mercedes and Sam. They all have these perfect romances and I just... I couldn't handle it anymore."

"Why didn't you come to me, us, Brittany?" Santana whispers softly. "We would have made you feel better," Quinn looks at her the same way she did in New York. "Not like that. We could have watched TV and raided the mini bar."

Quinn takes a deep breath. "But you have what they have, too." Santana gives her a look that demands more explanation. Quinn rolls her eyes. "I heard you," she says. "You and Brittany, I heard you..." She trails off at the look on Santana's face.

Santana pushes past the crippling fear that someone else might of heard and gulps nervously. "That's..." she laughs and rolls her eyes. "Me and Brittany... we're not... we're not perfect."

She's glad when Quinn doesn't push for anymore answers and they sit there in silence for a few minutes, watching as the first streaks of the night disappear and replace themselves with the day.

"It's sad isn't it," Quinn says suddenly. "It's been almost six years and this city's still not completely put back together.

The Mississippi River bridge and the lively city skyline twinkles to the left of them while behind them sits the hopelessness and decay left behind by the hurricane, blameless to no one other than nature itself. It feels particularly potent that Quinn sat herself in the space between the two, between the life and the decay.

Santana looks at her as the tears break free and her best friend's face screws itself up in uncontrollable anguish. Santana sees the same frustration she feels in her gut etched onto Quinn's face, the same confusion and guilt. She doesn't know whether to feel better or worse when she realizes that Quinn looks just as clueless and helpless as she feels.

/

There are still people on the streets at three am as they walk back to the hotel. Artie lets Quinn sit in his lap and Santana watches him struggle to wheel himself along as Quinn clings to him tightly.

After a while, she takes over and starts pushing his chair for him, unable to miss the way that he reverently strokes Quinn's hair from her eyes or the way he pulls his jacket tighter over her shoulders.

She chuckles softly. "Don't even think about it, Abrams," she says into the cool morning air.

His brow furrows, but he doesn't say anything and for a minute it's like he didn't notice, like he didn't even realize what he was doing in the first place. When he does, his cheeks flush pink.

/

They get to the hotel just after three in the morning and it's not quite light, not quite dark. Puck's nowhere to be found, and Santana convinces herself that he's in one of the other rooms just to avoid another search party.

Artie helps her get Quinn into bed, only able to pull off her shoes and make sure the blankets are covering her feet from his chair. Santana slips into the bathroom while he gets himself ready for bed and by the time she's stepped outside in her tank top and underwear, he's fast asleep, breathing low and even.

Her eyes ache with exhaustion and there's part of her that finds it ironic that the one that wanted to go to bed first gets to go to sleep last. The rest of her is too tired to care.

She just wants her bed.

But when she steps across to it and finds Brittany still there, right where she left her, it sets something beating hard in her chest. The blue morning light, that's the same color of Brittany's eyes, peeps through the curtains and casts shapes over her naked back. She sighs heavily and falls to lean against the wall to steady herself, watching for longer than she should as her body rises and falls with her breathing. Her blond hair falls in her eyes and her cheek rests lazily on the back of her hand.

She sinks into the mattress and suddenly it feels like it was made for her. Brittany feels the weight dip and her eyes flutter open, lips curling into a lazy smile. She leans over and presses a kiss to the corner of Santana's mouth, while warm arms wrap around her cool body.

"Don't worry," Brittany whispers as she leaves their faces mere centimeters apart. "I'll drive."


	4. Part 3

They're on the road by seven-thirty, and it's really hard not to be impressed that they're only an hour and a half behind schedule.

Brittany keeps good on her promise and lets Santana black out in the passenger seat as she climbs behind the wheel.

/

They woke up at six-thirty. Well, Santana woke up at six-thirty, goaded into consciousness by a nose nudging softly at her cheek. When her eyes fluttered open, she'd be lying if she said that waking up with a half-naked Brittany (if underwear that small and snug can constitute for someone being half-naked), didn't completely blindside her. It's something that _always_blindsides her, but upon waking that morning, it was mixed with a heavy and overwhelming dose of unsatisfied sexual frustration.

Three hours of sleep or not, it took her everything in her power not to push Brittany onto her back and fix that. But then, it didn't take long for her barely-charged batteries to drain and for her to do it anyway, rolling them steadily to the edge of the bed farthest away from Artie and Quinn, and tease teasing their mouths together.

A part of her had thought that maybe it would be okay, to sneakily press a kiss to Brittany's mouth while everyone was sleeping (they'd done it before at parties, many times), but this was different. Brittany's breasts were pressed against her stomach where Santana's tank had risen up and she'd managed to slip a thigh between Brittany's, pressing upward.

Alarm bells started ringing.

There was no way it would just be a kiss, and she couldn't let them be caught in the act this early in the morning. It would be hard to blame drunkenness when they weren't even drunk anymore. Not just because of the normal reasons but because the hangover she'd predicted the night before was present with full force. Thinking of an excuse would be too _hard._It would have been too big a risk.

Brittany shook her head in refusal, like she knew that Santana was going to move away, and pulled her forward close enough that she could suck gently on Santana's top lip. It earned her a narrow-eyed smirk. Brittany knew that Santana found that particular move difficult to resist, and Santana let her do it again a few more times just because it was impossible for her not to. Brittany smiled softly, proudly, and let their fingers clasp together either side of her head, pulling Santana even closer until she was choking on a moan.

Before she knew it, they were kissing hungrily and lazily, like only the best morning kisses are, and her eyes were fluttering closed in submission.

It wasn't until Quinn sighed sleepily, and rolled over onto her front, that they darted away from each other. It shocked both of them when, instead of panicking, Santana just covered her eyes with her hands and let out a laugh of disbelief.

She even pecked a kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth when she got up and headed to the bathroom.

/

It's only now that the panic's starting to set in, the full realisation of how stupid she's been almost making her want to throw up with fear.

Catching sight of Brittany every so often in the mirror, she can't help but feel guilty. She's sitting here panicking and regretting what happened for all the wrong reasons, while Brittany's softly singing along to the stereo like everything's great in the world for all the right ones.

Santana hates that Brittany's sitting there, dancing a little and trying not to make the car mirror her moves, just as much as she hates knowing that it's any minute before she freaks out again. While Brittany's happy, Santana's renewed with fear and she curls tighter into a ball, covering a hand over her mouth to stop herself from sobbing.

Sure, Quinn knows about them. At least, she knows how Santana feels and she knows there's something going on with them, but that's okay. She's convinced herself she has little to worry about there. Santana knows that as much as they pretend to hate each other, she and Quinn care about each other more, and this is one of those things where best friends come first.

But if someone catches them, it means that it's real. If she says something about it she can take it back and pretend that's not what she meant, but if she gets caught in the act? That's it. Over.

What if Artie had seen? Sure, he knows that they occasionally sleep together, and he might be on the verge of starting to crush on Quinn Fabray, but Santana's pretty sure he would shit a brick if he caught them doing it. He's not like most guys. He's not like Puck who, if he saw it would probably make sure everyone knew he'd seen two girls doing it. What if Rachel-freaking-Berry, on one of her alarm-clock-like missions to ruin Santana's mornings, had witnessed it? What if Mercedes or Tina, the two biggest gossips known to humanity, had stumbled on to some unarguably A-class gossip? What if freaking Kurt and his gay-trooping boyfriend wanted to get their own back and burst in and saw? They'd probably try to kick her out of the closet just like Karofsky warned her they'd been trying to do to him.

They'd never give up and her entire world would be turned upside down before she'd slipped her contacts back in and hid the razors in her hair.

/

She doesn't know where they are, but she wakes up to Puck arguing with Brittany. Well, arguing _at_ Brittany. Brittany doesn't really do the whole arguing thing. Santana starts to think that maybe she should have never gone to sleep because this hangover's the size of Wisconsin (not that she's ever been to Wisconsin) and her head is pounding like her heart's there instead of her brain.

Her eyes flutter open beneath the blanket and she listens for a few moments, trying to figure out what the hell they're talking about. Brittany holds her own, calmly refusing Puck with sensible answers to all his demands. Puck's a pissy little bitch when he's hungover, and that's more than evident right now as he grunts like a teenager and kicks off like a toddler who hasn't got his own way.

"Just stop the car, Britt! Get out and _let me drive_!" Santana rolls her eyes as the realization sinks in.

"Santana said I'm the only one who's allowed to drive her car," Brittany says softly, trying not to wake Santana, Quinn or Artie. "That rule sticks until she says otherwise and I really don't think that's going to happen."

There's another groan of indignation, the same that woke Santana up and Brittany shushes him as quietly as she can. Santana fleetingly thinks that Brittany's going to be a really good mom one day.

"Why is she letting you drive? I'm the shit!" Puck whispers at her, still doing what Brittany says even though he's acting like a kid. "You can't tell your left from your right! How are you meant to know where the hell you're going? We could be anywhere!"

Santana's sitting up before she knows what's going on, spinning around to point a warning finger in his face. "Shut your damn mouth, Puckerman. Don't talk to her like that."

"But she..."

"Is a better driver than anyone here!" Santana cuts through him and Quinn cracks one eye open indifferently. "She got her license before any of us. She's won state championships in Motocross and she won't crash my car into the front of a convenience store in a moment of stupidity. So _shut your damn mouth,_Puckerman, and leave her _alone._"

He sinks back in his seat and covers his head with a blanket, muttering curses under his breath at them. Santana catches Brittany's impressed half-smile and it only makes her feel worse.

/

They stop off for breakfast in Mobile, Alabama. Everyone's nursing their hangovers still and no one is looking each other in the eye. They drink more coffee than Santana thought was possible, eat like pigs, and when Brittany slips her hand around Santana's knee under the table, she shifts away like she's been burned.

Brittany looks hurt when she turns to her and Santana's so familiar with that face that it doesn't sting anymore like it used to, it just makes her feel more ashamed of herself.

/

Santana's back behind the wheel before they leave. Her awkwardness about being beside Brittany is hidden by her sudden need to concentrate on the road so she doesn't crash in a ball of metal and fire, but she can feel Brittany staring at her like she wants to say something anyway.

After an hour or so of driving, they finally cross the state line into Florida, and something in Santana feels a little bit more at ease. But then Brittany shifts a little until she's blatantly watching her and she feels uncomfortable under her gaze. Brittany's back rests against the door of the car, her seat belt twisted just as awkwardly as the thoughts that Santana can as good as hear whir around her head, and she crosses her legs up onto the chair. Her hands play with themselves in her lap and Santana gulps as she still doesn't say anything.

Just past Pensacola, she finally asks, "Are you okay?"

Santana turns around, pretending like she hasn't been concentrating more on how Brittany's blue eyes have been boring into her than on the road. "What? Yeah. I'm fine, why?"

Brittany pauses a moment before shifting back to face the front of the car. Then she sighs and Santana feels more ashamed than usual.

"No reason," Brittany whispers finally and closes her eyes.

/

At a gas stop around Defuniak Springs, Quinn jumps out of the car behind Santana and follows her inside to get snacks. Santana finally feels a little relief after two hours of awkwardness, but it barely lasts a minute when Quinn's stepping in front of her as she browses the bags of chips.

"What's going on?" she asks quietly. "What happened?"

Santana simply shakes her head, glad when Quinn nods.

"Okay, I understand you don't want to talk about it," she starts carefully. "But Brittany's looked like you killed Lord Tubbington for about three hours now and, as much as I enjoy that your romantic life is just as rocky as mine, you're the only two people on this trip who I actually care about, and it really sucks when Britt's sad, so..."

Santana shakes her head again.

"Okay, fine. We'll do it your way," Quinn sighs. "Did you two...?" she raises a perfect eyebrow. It mesmerizes Santana for a moment, but then she glares. "Did you two... sleep together last night?"

Santana gulps because she's not done this before. She doesn't _do_this, the girl talk crap. This isn't her thing. But she gives because something inside of her tells her that Quinn probably needs this as much as she does. She begins with an eye roll.

"We would have," she mumbles, picking up a bag of doritos and clutching them to her chest like a comfort blanket. "If Berry hadn't disappeared and I hadn't spent the whole night... you know." She rolls her eyes again. "She said it would be a one night thing," Santana explains. "For a while now, we've not been doing it in case..." she laughs suddenly and Quinn frowns, a little shocked, mostly confused but then she notices Santana's blush. "We haven't been doing it because I think we both wanted to wait until we figure all this shit out and it was supposed to be one night thing but we almost... _you know_, this morning. Now I don't know what the hell I'm meant to do."

Quinn's response doesn't surprise her. "Was I in the room?"

She scoffs. "You interrupted us with your snoring."

"I don't snore," Quinn states without room for argument. "Why don't you just talk to her?"

Santana squeezes the bag of doritos so tightly it almost bursts open. She decides that she can't do this, Quinn doesn't get it, and storms away.

/

They ride in silence apart from the occasional radio messages that she sends to Mike and Blaine.

Around noon when they're attempting to decide when and where to stop for lunch, Santana lets all her frustration down the radio at Rachel when she demands that they actually go somewhere that caters to her dietary requirements, without clogging her arteries with grease.

It ends with Rachel almost in tears, Finn shouting down the radio at her, Kurt squealing, everyone in Mike's car caught between the crossfire and asking what the hell is going on, and Santana halting the car in the middle of the highway to give her final warning.

Quinn smirks. Santana beats her fists angrily against her steering wheel for a few minutes. Brittany sighs like she knows what's really going on. But, then again, she always does when it comes to Santana.

/

It feels like an intervention when they stop for lunch and manage to get her to hand over her keys to Brittany, telling her she needs more sleep before she kills someone.

It does come after she lunges at Berry again, though, so she guesses that it's a warranted request. And she could really use more sleep.

She doesn't appreciate being babied, though, which is what they're doing to her. Like the road has made her crazy and she's about to drive off a cliff into the sunset and they need to chain her up and surround her.

They lock her in the car and she flattens down some of the seats while everyone else goes to look around the small town just past Tallahassee they've stopped in.

She wraps herself in all the blankets, even though it's hotter than a volcano. She doesn't care; she just wants to remember what it was like falling asleep with another body wrapped around her.

/

Quinn's there with Taco Bell when she wakes up.

She totally doesn't sob a little and clutch Quinn tightly around the neck. She definitely doesn't actually consider kissing her when she realizes that Quinn still remembers all her favorite eats pertaining to her mood. There's so much chilli in her burrito, _Quinn's_ eyes start to water.

"Did you talk to her?" Quinn asks instead of saying anything else.

"No," Santana says around a mouthful of food. Something in Quinn's eyes makes her swallow uncomfortably hard. "Did you?"

Quinn shakes her head softly. "I spoke to Artie. He said that she looked like she was going to cry when we stopped at the last gas station. I think you should talk to her."

Santana takes and deep breath and nods.

"Artie also said that you were yelling up a storm trying to find me yesterday." Quinn smirks a little and Santana glares. "Were you worried about me?"

Santana ignores her with a roll of the eyes because, duh. She totally gave up lady-lovin' to go find her if she's being real about it. She wouldn't do that for Rachel Berry. Rachel Berry could burst into flames right now and she wouldn't give a damn.

Instead, Santana turns the tables and cocks an eyebrow at Quinn. "Is there a reason why you're spending all your time with Artie Abrams, by the way? You two seem pretty... _chummy_."

Quinn looks at her as if to say "really?".

"He's a _friend_."

"A friend who stroked the hair out of your eyes and carried you home last night," Santana says with a smirk. "He also pulled off your shoes and made sure your covers were on properly."

Quinn blushes. She actually _blushes_.

"You're an idiot," she says, not letting the outward persona fall. "You're just projecting his feelings so that you can get your grubby little hands on Britt."

"Not even close," Santana says and it's true. "The kid _likes_ you, Fabray."

"I'm not even his type."

"The type of girl who will cheat on him?" Santana says, feeling a little mean for saying it, but it's true. "Yeah, ya are."

Quinn's mouth opens but a gentle tap on the window gets their attention. All joy from teasing Quinn leaves Santana when she sees Brittany stood there looking softly down at them. She waves awkwardly as she opens the door.

"I thought you'd be in here," Brittany says to Quinn. "I just saw Artie. He's looking for you. He found a book store."

Quinn almost leaps from the car, but she turns back at the last minute to point directly at Santana's open mouth as it readies to say something. "Not a word, Lopez."

/

Brittany brought her ice cream. They sit in the car, and watch the sun as it beams down on everything in sight, in silence. Santana's glad that she decided to park under the shade of a tree. She's kind of glad of anything that takes her mind off the fact that Brittany's sat beside her and no one's around.

She hasn't looked at her yet, but she knows that she'll have to soon. They have to talk.

Brittany notices that too and she coaxes that moment into fruition by leaning forward to wipe ice cream from the corner of Santana's mouth. Santana jumps and turns to catch her eyes.

She still doesn't talk, though.

She's too busy finally looking at Brittany and tugging her into a kiss so fierce her teeth start to hurt. Lips smooth against one another, gasping for breath and some resolve. Hands clutch at clothing and Santana moans as she delves her tongue into Brittany's waiting and welcome mouth. The kiss is all tongue and teeth, fingernails biting into skin, and it's glorious.

"No, no, no..." Santana says pulling away relucantly, but Brittany pulls her back, biting on her bottom lip before sucking both it and the top one in succession. "Britt..." she mumbles and her hands go to Brittany's shoulders to push her away softly. She looks at her through hooded eyes. "We need to talk."

"That's never good. Can't we just make out some more?"

Santana smiles and wipes the saliva from Brittany's chin. "You said one night."

She looks like a chastised child when she looks down at her hands and plays with her fingers. "I know."

"You're my best friend, Britt," Santana sighs and she pecks her lips because stopping herself would take too much effort. "I don't think we should do this."

Brittany looks at her, eyes wide and terrified. "What? Why?" Tears pool in her eyes and Santana panics.

"No," Santana says taking her hand. "No, I don't mean it like that. I'm not saying that this is it, we can't _ever_ do it again... but you're my best friend and we shouldn't do this. At least, not right now."

"But we've always done this..."

"And now things are different," Santana sighs, cupping her cheek. "I don't just want to make out with you. I wanna do other stuff too."

Brittany smirks moving closer. "What kind of other stuff?"

"Britt," she laughs. "I want to be with you, okay? I can't do that if I haven't got everything figured out yet. I just need some time and all this is going to mess me up."

Brittany looks at her sadly, eyes heavy and lips swollen. Santana can't help herself. She kisses her quickly and pulls back.

"I'm so scared, Britt," she explains and rests their foreheads together. She takes a deep breath. "Not even about all this gay stuff, but about you and what it's going to do to us. I can't lose you," she shakes her head at the fear brought on by the thought. Her voice grows hoarse. "I just need some time."

Brittany takes a deep breath and sighs. She takes her own kiss too. It lasts a little too long and she looks disappointed when Santana pulls away too soon. Her smile is disappointed but understanding, the way it always is. "No more sweet lady kisses until you're figured out. I can do that."

Santana looks at her gratefully and strokes her finger over Brittany's cheek. She wants to kiss her again, but knows it isn't a good idea. Kissing definitely leads to much greater things. The reminder is what makes her say the next words. "Britt?"

"Yeah?"

Santana draws her arms around Brittany's neck and holds her tight. "I think I'm going to start sharing a bed with Quinn, too."

Brittany's arms hesistate wrapping around her. She sighs resolutely before they curl around her, and when they do, Santana's not sure if they're too tight or not tight enough.

"You do what you have to do," she whispers.

/

"Did you do it?" Quinn asks when she jumps in the seat behind Santana.

Santana looks at her in the rearview and nods once. "Yep."

"And?"

Santana shakes her head. "I'm sharing with you tonight."

Quinn's hand falls comfortingly to her shoulder. Santana's glad to have a friend.

/

"Lopez," Puck says before he gets in the car. "Need a favor."

Santana doesn't turn to him, but continues playing with the buttons on the stereo. "For you?" she says brightly. "No."

Puck rolls his eyes and ignores her. "Indians are playing the Reds tonight. The guys don't want to miss it. Can we use your car?"

Santana turns to him. "You mean as in, one of you idiots driving my car?"

"Yeah?"

"Not a popsicle's chance in hell."

Puck laughs. "It's either that or you take all the girls and Kurt."

"Or all you assholes pile into two cars and I head there alone with Quinn and Brittany."

Puck narrows his eyes in disgruntled disappointment, like threatening that would work, like he'd seen his one chance and he'd blown it. He really takes her for an idiot some times. "Fine. Fifty bucks."

"A million," she laughs.

"Seventy-five and I'll clean your car for you once we get to the Keys."

"Two million and you don't come within ten meters of my car."

"A hundred. Come on, Lopez. You'll get to shout at Berry and she won't be able to say anything. You can abuse her and then threaten to kick her out of the car if she yaps back. Come on, Santana. I'll owe you."

She's not even ashamed to say that offers sways it. "Hundred bucks," she says quietly. "But I reserve the right to take the offer back at any moment."

"Deal," he says holding out his hand.

She looks at it and rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Deal."

/

"Here's the sitch, Berry. You talk, I kick your ass. Understood?"

"U-u-understood."

/

"This car is a lot nicer than Blaine's," Kurt says as the aircon blows him in the face and he sips a soda from his nearby cup holder. Brittany put on the Gaga playlist before they'd even left Tallahassee and her voice is slowly buzzing in the background.

Sure the car's a little fuller and it has Rachel Berry in it, but Santana can't deny it's nice actually having something to do in the car. And her passengers aren't so bad if they're going to keep up complementing her car.

"My dad got it for me for my birthday. She's brand new, nearly."

Brittany smiles from her place in the behind Santana, "Her name is Princess."

Santana shakes her head. "Her name is Leila."

"Yeah, Princess Leila. Like in Star Trek."

Santana's mid eye roll when Mercedes cuts through her. "It's Leia, Britt. Not Leila."

Santana prevents any arguments by laughing deep and throaty, letting it bubble up from her chest as the warm sound leaves her. "Oh, boy, if this is really you attempting to keep the fact that you're macking on Evans on the down low, then you suck at it, Wheezy."

Mercedes narrows her eyes. Santana's sure it's probably the first time anyone's ever insulted her and she hasn't replied with sass. "W-what?"

"You are smooching on that," Santana nods. Everyone in the car turns to where she's sat in the back with Rachel and Kurt. "By my reconning, you've been smooching on that for quite some time."

It's Rachel that turns incredulously to look at Mercedes. "No, she's not. You're not, are you?"

"Of course, she's not," Kurt says, shaking his head.

Mercedes looks a little offended. "Yeah, actually, I am."

/

"I can't believe you're letting him hide you," Kurt slaps his thigh and shakes his head.

It's been about forty minutes of Mercedes telling them how Sam walked her home after prom and kissed her on the cheek at the doorway, awwing at how he delivered pizza to her house one night and then asked her if she wanted to actually get some pizza together, while smirking at how he asked her if she wanted to go out and then kissed her. It's pretty cute, even by Santana's standards.

Mercedes rolls her eyes. "I'm not letting him hide me. If anything I'm hiding him. You've all proven it all ready. Who's going to believe that a hot piece of ass like him is gonna wanna get all up on this? It was easier than answering all the disbeliving looks."

"I believed it," Santana says. "It's not that hard to believe. The boy likes his ladies to be fierce bitches. Ask me and Quinn."

Quinn snorts and nods vacantly.

"He's a really good kisser too," Brittany mumbles and they all look at each other awkwardly before Mercedes dreamily agrees.

/

They spend the next twenty minutes discussing how in the hell Sam Evans managed to be so successful with the ladies. Mercedes says it's because he's sweet, Quinn says it's because of his geeky charm, Santana says it's because of his trouty mouth teamed with diamond-cutting abs and Brittany says it's because he tastes like chips.

They all agree to disagree.

/

Santana hates girl talk. She always avoided it in the locker rooms because she always assumed that sitting with a bunch of girls and her only advice being "shut the hell up and get over it" and her only problem being "I'm finding it harder and harder to hide the fact that I like staring at most of your boobs" wouldn't be taken too kindly.

The only times she's ever really enjoyed it is with the girls from glee, and that's probably why she's having such a _thrilling_time now. Sure, they're all completely missing the point half of the time, but their unique melodrama is a little endearing in a way that makes Santana start to understand all that stuff Brittany was saying about family.

/

Kurt still refuses to look her in the eye. He also looks like he swallowed a cactus, and has a million thoughts running through his head. So what if Santana's a little bit concerned about him. It's her job, isn't it? To protect him?

She looks at him through the rear view, only to catch him staring back. His eyes dart away, caught and she smiles because she'd probably be doing the same thing too, if the tables were turned.

"You okay, Hummel?" she asks softly. "You're lookin' a little pale back there."

He nods and doesn't say anything, but she shakes her head and carries on anyway. "You sure?"

There must be something in her voice that betrays that she's actually concerned and he turns to her and takes a deep breath. Everyone is looking at them like they're obviously missing something. Kurt shoots her a struggled smile. "I'm fine, Santana."

But he doesn't sound fine or look fine. He looks like he wants to throw up or scream. "What happened?" she asks him softly. A little too soft for Santana Lopez.

He looks up at her through the mirror. They catch eyes like no one else is there. "He regrets it," he shrugs nonchalantly, and Santana nods letting her shoulders slump in understanding.

/

"We were drunk," Kurt says. "Really drunk."

After Kurt managed to tell everyone what happened, with Santana's help, they all rallied around to offer him some consoling words. That was ten minutes ago and now they're all trying to find a solution.

"We didn't even do anything, really, but he totally freaked out because we'd been drinking. I was completely sober by the time it happened. I thought he'd be happy because the last time that we talked about _that_ he was adamant that I know everything," Kurt goes on. They all nod in response. "I told him I wanted romance and he'd been telling me he loved be all night and I just, my dad gave me these pamplets and I haven't been able to get it off my mind."

Santana snorts. They all glare. "Sorry," she says.

"He said that he didn't want my first time to be a drunken mess," Kurt says like the interuption never happened. "He said he wanted it to be perfect, but I was ready and now I'm not because I just wanted to be close to him. I wanted to connect to him on that level and now he doesn't want me to."

"Oh, honey," Mercedes says softly.

"He kept freaking out that we weren't using protection, that he wasn't sure if I understood everything, like I was some child," Kurt shakes his head. "I was finally ready and then he shot me down."

/

"I wish I was ready like that," Rachel says after twenty minutes of solemn silence and Kurt's quiet crying. "I wish I could be so sure that I wanted to give it away to someone."

Santana snorts. "Yeah, what's the story, Berry? Because I seem to remember some crazy ass chick wandering into celibacy club and telling all the guys that girls want it too. Change your mind?"

"If you must know," Rachel says straightening her back. "I drank some alcohol to give me some Dutch courage, but when it came to it, I found that I wasn't able to perform."

"But you love performing." Brittany takes the words right out of her mouth. "Did you not want to?"

Rachel shrinks into herself. "I don't know."

"Look, if you guys want my advice," Tina says softly. "Don't even bother, okay? Sex just makes things ten times worse."

Santana looks behind her to see Tina looking more upset and angry than she knew possible. Brittany reaches out to her, resting a hand on her wrist. "What's wrong?"

Tina shakes her head and Santana starts to wonder when her car became the stage for Oprah. "Nothing, it's just. I don't think Mike and I are working out so well. All we do is have sex and make out. His mother started talking to us about marriage and he agreed to everything. He and his mother have every part of my future planned out and I've had no say in it. I always thought that I would end up in college, at least, but his mom says I have to be a stay at home wife." She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. Ever since you've been broken up with Artie," she talks to Brittany. "All I've been thinking about is how much happier I might have been with him."

Brittany looks at her and nods. Santana softens with fondness when Brittany doesn't swell with jealousy or get offended, but strokes Tina's hair from her eyes. "It's okay. Maybe you're just going through a rough patch. If you're still in love with Artie, maybe you should talk to him and see how you feel."

"Wait, what?" Mercedes says from the back. "Are you serious?"

Brittany turns to them and frowns. "What?"

"Are you two seriously having this conversation?" Kurt says for her.

"We were so sure that Brittany was going to get back with Artie."

She looks at them like they've grown a new head each, and just that action makes Santana's heart grow a little in her chest. "No," she shakes her. "No, we're just friends. We've been talking and I love him, but I'm not _in love_with him. We're definitely just best friends right now." Her nod is sure and resolute and Santana fills with hope because of it. "We were talking earlier actually. He said he wasn't sure, but he thinks he likes someone else now."

Santana notices how Tina's eyes glaze over with something that looks too much like hope. She frowns and can't help it when her eyes dart over to Quinn in the passenger seat beside her.

When she sees the blush and the way that Quinn doesn't want to look anywhere, Santana can tell that there is no way in hell this is ever going to be a peaceful, relaxing trip.

/

They're about two hours away and Rachel's still talking about how hard it is to have sex with Finn. Santana would gladly take a gun to the face, even though it's kind of funny.

"It feels like there's something inside of me that's incomplete without it," Rachel says dramatically. "Like there's a hole in me that needs to be filled."

"That's your vagina," Santana tells her pointedly, just in case she didn't know. Everyone tries not to laugh.

"I'm never going to get it back, you know? What if he's not the right person? What if I waste it on him like he wasted it on -"

She trails off and Santana barely realizes what she's implying until all eyes are on her. She sighs irritably and shakes her head.

"Like he wasted it on me. There, you can say it," she shrugs. "It's true anyway." None of them look away. "Ugh, if you want me to be honest. It was _awful_. You're more than welcome to get all up on that because he's about as coordinated in the bedroom as he is when he's dancing." Brittany's grimace almost makes her stop and laugh out loud. "He was a mess after it was over. Totally freaked out because he didn't feel anything."

Rachel nods and she looks a little relieved but not really. "Thank you, Santana," she says, "But it's not him sleeping with you that I'm really worried about."

For a minute, they all look confused, but then they see where Rachel's trying not to look: at Quinn, in the passenger seat as she tries to act like she isn't listening to everything they're saying. When she notices they're all looking at her, she slowly looks up. Santana feels a little stupid for never even thinking to ask Berry's question. Brittany looks a little intrigued too.

"First of all," Quinn says. "I'm in celibacy club, I don't have sex with boys. But that doesn't mean that we didn't find other ways to express our _feelings_."

It's not hard to note the disdain in Quinn's voice, like she's suddenly realizing how false and phoney those feelings were, how she'd been living a lie.

"I think you should just do it," Quinn says indifferently. "You're going to regret it either way. Everyone always regrets their first time, no matter when it is, who it's with, and why it happens. It's just a universal fact."

Quiet dawns on them and they all look at each other without looking at each other. Quinn goes back to reading her book and Rachel, Kurt and Mercedes look a little green and nervous. They look like they need someone to tell them that she's lying because if she isn't that makes their problems ten million times worse instead of better.

"I don't," Brittany breaks the silence and shakes her head softly. A smile grows on her face.

Tina looks at her and nods. "No, me neither."

Brittany smiles. "I'll never regret it. Not ever."

The jealousy that Santana feels inside of her is irrational. She knows that there were other people and she knows that they silently decided not to talk about their relationships with boys. It doesn't make it any easier to digest when reminded that Brittany's been with a lot more people than just her.

"I know," Tina says. "Even if Mike's not the guy for me, it was the perfect moment. We could have done it a million times before, a million times after; we had so many opportunities and we picked the right one."

Quinn scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Santana will agree with me. Your first time was as much of a disaster as mine, right?"

Her eyes flicker to Brittany automatically and she thinks of her bed on a Saturday night, some Disney movie on the TV and a cold pizza left in the box beside her on the floor covered in pyjamas and underwear. Brittany's eyes catch hers and they narrow instantly in recognition, sparkling beautiful as the meaning of their gaze registers.

"It was the best night of my life," she says softly to no one but Brittany's reflection in the mirror, and when Quinn's cheeks blanche and Brittany's flush with a shy pink, she's never felt more proud for telling the truth.

/

"Here," Santana says when they get to the motel in Orlando at ten o'clock that night. She reaches into her glove compartment and shoves a hand full of condoms each into Rachel and Kurt's hands as they're the last to get out of the car.

Kurt stares down at them bewildered like she just put a spaceship in his hand. "What are these for?"

She shrugs. "So you can show him that he doesn't have to worry."

He smiles and leaves her with Rachel. She rolls her eyes uncomfortably. "You know, it doesn't matter if you're not ready. Just make him wait."

Rachel narrows her eyes. "So why are you giving me protection?"

Santana snorts. "Because, Rachel Berry, when you _are_ ready there is no way you're making a mess on my grandmother's best sheets."

Rachel rests a hand on her elbow and Santana's seconds away from pushing her away but she doesn't. The grateful smile on Rachel's face won't let her.

"Thank you, Santana," she says before leaving.

/

They're too tired to go out for dinner, so Santana agrees to run out and find them Chinese food. The owner of the motel gives them directions to a few places he knows, and Brittany comes along as they decide to appreciate the weather and walk to the nearest place.

They don't speak the whole way there or the whole way back, unless they're talking about food. But when they get back to the motel and they're in the elevator riding up to the fifth floor, Brittany turns to her.

"Did you mean it?" she asks softly. "When we were all talking earlier, did you mean it when you told them the night you lost your virginity was the best night of your life? Or were you just trying to make them feel better?"

Santana laughs mirthlessly and shakes her head. "I meant it," she mutters. "I meant what I said in the car."

Brittany nods. "Me too," she says. "Why was it the best night of your life?"

The question is innocent enough, but Santana understands all the things Brittany isn't saying. _Who was it with? What made their night better than any night you had with me?_

Santana shrugs and finds herself unexpectedly holding back tears. "Because it was with you," she whispers with a nod. "Because I got what I always wanted and I got to give it to you."

Brittany looks at her and her face remains stoic but her eyes give her away as they water. Her smile grows softly and she shrugs her shoulders to mirror Santana's earlier shrug as two tears escape down her cheeks.

"Me too," she chokes and Santana can't help it. She couldn't stop herself if she tried.

Her hands drop the bags and she takes the two steps towards Brittany, pressing her against the wall of the elevator. Brittany sees it coming and sighs in relief as Santana sandwiches her body there before she mashes their lips together like it's been years instead of hours. They moan against each other, lips giving and taking kisses like they were made to fit together. Hands clutch at cheeks and Santana curls her fingers in Brittany's blond hair as she pulls away with a smack when the elevator jolts to a halt.

/

That night, Santana does share with Quinn, but she falls asleep with her fingers locked with Brittany's in the alley between their beds and a smile on her face.


	5. Part 4

There's a lightness in her chest when she wakes up, allowing her to breathe easier. Her brow furrows in confusion, for a moment, until she remembers and she can't stop smiling.

Her fingers remain locked with Brittany's and she stares silently at their joined hands, relaxed and hanging in mid-air, until she hears Quinn stir.

/

It shouldn't change anything that she said to Brittany yesterday, but it does. Her brain keeps yelling at her that she needs to stick with the plan because it'll be better in the long run, but her heart feels like a magnet, only attracted to Brittany, and keeps pulling her to be as close as possible.

"Hi."

"Hey."

Everything feels awkward and wonderful at the same time. They stand mutely in the middle of the room and stare at each other, cheeks turning steadily pink and eyes glossing over. Santana feels ridiculous for being unable to look away, but she gets over it quickly when one of Brittany's hands reaches to fist in the bottom of her tank top and pull her closer.

She forgets that she's in the middle of a hotel room, that anyone could walk in, the promises they made yesterday – everything – and lets herself be pulled in by that magnetic force that constantly drives her towards Brittany. A soft, gentle smile adorns both of their faces and Brittany ducks her head against the height difference to nudge their noses together.

Brittany giggles softly and they're a second away from kissing when the toilet flushes.

It's only Quinn, but they jump apart from each other and smile nervously. Brittany scratches the back of her neck as she purses her lips together guiltily.

"Sorry," she whispers seconds before Quinn comes out of the bathroom.

Santana shakes her head and moves to stand beside her as they go through their bags, silently looking for clothes.

"Oh, I was about to wake you guys up," Quinn says indifferently when she steps back into the room. "Everyone's waiting downstairs. Puck found some place that does a $3.99 all you can eat breakfast buffet."

/

Breakfast is almost as awkward as their take out dinner the night before, and not just for Brittany and Santana.

Kurt is still not talking to Blaine; Santana watches as they both open their mouths to say something and then close them not sure if what they want to say would be the right thing. Finn and Rachel smile awkwardly at each other, Finn adamant that everything's "okay" but never really quite looking as though it is. Mike and Tina barely speak other than to ask one another to pass the maple syrup, and Santana hears Mike mumbling stuff about being a bad asian under his breath. Sam and Mercedes seem to be the only couple who actually like each other at the moment, taking advantage of the groups knowledge of their union to bask in their happiness.

Quinn barely eats anything and Artie eats like his life depends on it. Puck, dense as ever, doesn't notice anything different and talks away to himself about their plans for the day.

Santana turns to her left and sees the uneasy look on Brittany's face. She taps her bare leg with her knuckles and waits for Brittany to take the hand that she offers.

When a slowly shrinking part of her brain starts yelling at her for doing it, she convinces herself that she's not doing it to desperately remind herself what it feels like to touch Brittany, but because the family they've made for themselves is teetering on the precipice of destruction.

It shuts it up, for a little while.

/

Puck calls a group meeting, Santana reluctantly agrees, and they all sit in their hotel room and discuss what they want to do for the two days they've set aside in Orlando.

Santana finds that this is probably the most opportune moment to tell the group that she managed to get hold of half a dozen bedrooms at one of hotels near Disney World because of a friend of her dad. They all twitter excitedly like it's a big deal, which it _isn't_, and look at her like she's the second coming of Christ.

Brittany asks if Seaworld is near Disney World and Santana's glad when the rest of the group wonder the same thing. It means less punching.

Half hour later, they're all back in their own rooms getting ready to leave and head for Seaworld.

When Santana walks past the bathroom and catches sight of Brittany slipping on her coral colored bikini underneath her clothing, her brain almost short circuits.

/

Brittany's body brushes against hers as they're squeezing between the cars to pack up their stuff. She sighs against her own will and Brittany leans forward again, almost subconsciously, fingers tugging on the bottom of her shirt. The voice in her head screams again and Santana frantically shakes herself until it stops and shoots her back into the proper frame of mind.

"I forgot something," she lies and quickly makes her way back towards the motel.

/

Rachel goes into a twenty minute rant about how immoral it is to keep animals in captivity as they stand in line to enter.

Santana tells her to shut up or she'll throw her in with the sharks. It helps relieve the tension all over her body a little, but barely enough.

/

They split into groups within the first twenty minutes. Tina, Mike, Sam and Mercedes want to go on all the rides first and Rachel wants to see all the shows and drags Finn and a curious Kurt and Blaine along with her. Santana ends up with Brittany, Quinn, Artie and Puck who disappears shortly after, chasing some girl who gives him bedroom eyes as they walk around the park.

Brittany pushes Artie along as they walk around and smiles in wide excitement as she takes in her surroundings. She practically bounces behind him, too excited to contain herself. Santana tries hard not to beam at her, and fails spectacularly.

/

Santana almost punches Artie when he tells Brittany that the real Shamu died in 1971. Brittany's eyes well up because she's pretty much been desperate to see Shamu since she even heard the name, but Artie saves it when he quickly tells her that they have better whales to be Shamu now. Santana's deathly glare shrinks to an unimpressed frown and Artie sighs in relief as they're ushered into their seats in the soak zone.

Santana spends more time looking at Brittany than the damn show, watching her eyes light up as she stands and claps her hands.

Santana knows that Brittany's parents don't take her many fun places that aren't what they deem "educationally beneficial", and she can see all that happiness she used to have as a kid etched in Brittany's eyes as the orcas fly over the water, performing tricks. Brittany claps, her eyes growing with awe and wonder, and Santana's heart swells in her chest.

She doesn't look away, not until the damn over-grown fish splashes them all with a wave of water. She's about ready to bitch and moan, but then Brittany's laughing and throwing her arms up in the air and she can't find it in herself to do anything other than grin.

/

It's almost ninety degrees and Santana gulps when Brittany disposes of her soaking wet t-shirt to reveal her bikini top. She wanders around the park in only that and her jean shorts and Santana hates herself for hearing eighties hard rock in her head as she stares shamelessly.

The voice in her head tells her she shouldn't, that it's not an appropriate way to look at her best friend, and she quietens it by inwardly telling it to shut up because there's no harm in looking.

/

The visit the stingrays and the manatees, the sea lions and the sharks. Santana stands behind Brittany the entire time and watches her as she looks at the animals the same way she does everything else, with the utmost respect and adoration.

She chuckles as she watches Brittany calmly explain to the sharks that the fact that they're gay is no reason to eat or hate on the dolphins, because they can't help who they love. She rolls her eyes when Brittany claps along with the sea lions. When she asks where the stingray's students are, Santana holds up a hand to stop Artie from telling her that it's a different kind of ray than the one in Finding Nemo, and that they aren't really the educators of the ocean.

/

It's not until they get to the dolphins that Santana struggles to hold back the expression from her face. Her eyes well up with tears as one of the trainers beckons Brittany forward and encourages her run her hand over the moist, slippery skin of the dolphin's nose.

Brittany's eyes are sad and happy at the same time and Santana can't believe she was so stupid to forget a younger and more easily disappointed Brittany telling her how she's always wanted to be a marine biologist. It's always been her dream, just so she can dance and swim with the dolphins, while making sure that nobody hurts them or makes them into tuna sandwiches.

When she thinks of that day, when she asked Brittany why she told their teacher she didn't know what she wanted to be when they're older, the look on her friend's face is still burned to memory like a photograph. The shame that had coated Brittany's features had burned at her stomach and the words had bugged her for days when Brittany pointedly told her there was no point, she'd never be able to become one because she was too stupid to get into marine biologist school.

Santana had thought that Brittany could do anything – she still does with every bit of her being – but right now, she knows that this isn't just excitement on Brittany's face. It's not just awe or happiness that she witnesses as Brittany whispers hello to a suddenly subdued and calm Bottlenose dolphin that pushes back into her hand as she strokes its nose.

It's one of her best friend's dreams coming true, and the greatest thing is that she gets to see it.

Not until Quinn's hand rests at the base of her back does she realize that she's actually crying. Quinn frowns at her, confused, but she adamantly shakes shakes her head against Quinn's concern.

"I'm okay," she whispers so Brittany or Artie don't hear. "I'm fine."

There's nothing more she can say, the silent pride and relief on Brittany's face says enough.

/

Santana links their pinkies as they head towards the sea turtles after Brittany insisted they go there because they're Santana's favorite.

She might hear that chastising voice in her head, but she ignores it.

/

They meet everyone else for a late lunch.

When Santana discovers they're all still fighting, the automatic reaction to rest her hand on Brittany's thigh is instinctive. She squeezes when Tina scoffs at Mike or they all fall into an uncomfortable silence.

When Brittany curls their fingers together and struggles to eat her sandwich because she refuses to let go of her, something Santana thought was strong inside of her begins to unravel.

/

The thing is, Santana hates roller coasters. She hates roller coasters and she hates unnecessary speed. It's probably why it's taken them so long to get this far in their trip.

It's been the same since she was a kid and she feels a little nervous as they stand in line for an hour with the others, waiting to ride the _Manta_, listening as Tina tells them how they've already ridden it three time and it's totally worth it.

Santana really wants to punch them. She can't think of anything worse than riding something that simulates a fish flying through the sky with her feet dangling in the air. She really likes these damn shoes.

But when Brittany pouted and said she didn't want her to miss out, Santana gave in almost immediately, and let Brittany lead her across the park to the line.

Brittany doesn't let go the entire time that they're waiting. She almost falls apart when Brittany is forced to let go so they can get onto the ride and lets some dorky kid fasten her into her seat. Brittany's hand is outstretched to her as they creep along the track, reaching a precipice until their bodies are turned so they're parallel with the ground. She takes it blindly and closes her eyes, gulping as they're launched off and around the track.

/

It's the worse couple of minutes of her life, but Brittany's there to catch her when she sways from side to side. The rest of the group wander off to join the line again, but Brittany waits and holds her until she's steady on her feet, arms wrapped around her waist.

"You okay?" she smiles, but there is no teasing in it, only joy that Santana actually went on the ride. After all, Brittany was present for the Six Flags incident of '07. "You look like you're about to throw up."

Santana shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "I'm okay," she says, even though she clutches at Brittany's hands to keep them where they are without realizing.

"Sorry, I made you go on it," Brittany mumbles softly to her. There's no one around and, as usual, everything starts to feel warmer than it is. She licks her lips, almost by habit.

Santana's reaching up with her mouth before she realizes, but she doesn't quite reach and her lips land on Brittany's chin. She blushes. "You're lucky I love you," she mumbles.

Brittany giggles and pinches at her side. "Yeah, I am," she says and those words make Santana's stomach flip flop more than any stupid flying fish roller coaster could.

/

They leave the park early, heading to their late afternoon check in at the hotel.

Puck looks like the cat that got the cream, when he meets them at the prearranged check point by the penguins, and Santana rolls her eyes in disgust as he plays with the zipper on his pants and grins lewdly at them.

/

Santana's glad when their reservation is actually there, casually mentioning the name of the guy who helped her father to get them the awesome rooms at such short notice, even though it's the Forth of July weekend.

The woman actually looks at her like she's some VIP guest that just walked in, and Santana doesn't question who the hell this friend is, just takes it gladly as half a dozen bellboys step forward to take their bags.

She vaguely remembers that her dad saved the guy's life or that he might own the hotel or something, but she can't really remember.

/

Their view is amazing and for the first time, they don't have to share in more than pairs. Well, they wouldn't have done, if Brittany hadn't tagged along, so she ends up sharing with Brittany and Quinn again.

"I can see Cinderella's castle from here," Brittany says when they get up to their room.

There's a note on the desk and Santana picks it up, already knowing who it's from before she gets close enough to read it.

_It's nearly been a week. Do you have plans to call us anytime soon? Your mother thinks you're dead. Have fun, love Mom and Dad. P.S. I made them empty out the mini bars._

/

They spend more time than they should checking out the hotel and by the time they're hungry, it's too late to make a reservation or get a table for thirteen anywhere. Puck spots a diner from the balcony and he makes them all walk and navigate the unfamiliar streets of Orlando, Florida to find it.

It is kind of worth the thirty minute walk when Santana's biting into one of the best burgers of the trip so far. Brittany sits beside her and smiles fondly as she reaches forward to wipe the smudge of ketchup away from her chin with the pad of her thumb.

It takes everything in Santana's power not to lean over and kiss her, long and slow and deep. She leans back into her chair when she feels herself leaning in, despite the fact she's surrounded by eleven of her friends, and spends the rest of the meal wondering what's gotten into her.

/

The tension is still palpable when they get back to the hotel. They all sit in Rachel and Finn's room when they get back to the hotel, and it feels as though they're being used as a contraceptive because Finn has that constant lusty look in his eye and Rachel looks like she'd rather jump off the balcony than give in to it.

Brittany shifts in her place at the end of one of the beds and furrows her brow.

"Ugh," Santana says suddenly. "I'm bored. Let's do something to keep me amused."

Puck sidles up to her. "I can think of something that'll keep you really amused."

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "If it involves your penis, Puckerman, there's only one reason it'll keep me amused."

She distances her fingers a short distance apart and holds it up to show him. The room barely laughs and it's then that she knows something is definitely wrong.

"I swear to God, Puckerman," she sighs as she heads over to one of the drawers in the night stand. "You better have your stash."

Puck grins as Santana holds up a deck of cards. "Jack or Jim, baby?"

/

They play Blackjack on Rachel's bed for all the pennies they've collected over the trip. Santana laughs as she tries to teach Rachel and Mercedes how to play, and Puck holds an unlit cigarette between his teeth as he pours out shots of Jack Daniels and Jim Beam into hotel cups.

"What's so hard to understand about making twenty-one, Berry?" Santana laughs, glad that everyone's laughing again instead of arguing. It's amazing what a little bit of alcohol will do.

Or a lot of alcohol will do, in Rachel's case, as she tries to make twenty-one out of three kings while still shouting "hit me".

Brittany sits beside her, leaning into her side. The warm arm wrapped around her back makes her feel safe rather than scared.

/

Around ten pm, Santana looks up and catches Quinn leaving the room.

She doesn't run after her. She knows why her friend has left the room (Rachel and Finn should be renamed Handsy Berry and Finn Hands-on when they're drunk), and they share a look of understanding the second before the door quietly clicks shut.

The wandering of her mind is halted when Brittany throws up her arms in triumph as she gets twenty-one and more pennies than she'll probably know what to do with.

Santana's suddenly too caught up in Brittany's wide grin to worry about what Quinn might be doing.

/

"We shouldn't be doing this," Brittany mumbles against her lips.

They're back in their room and laying over the couch. They're both just tipsy enough to keep their wits about them, but careless enough to be sloppily making out on the couch. The voice in the back of Santana's head is silent and she imagines it's probably just rolling any eyes it might have or burying it's face in its hand.

Santana giggles. "We're just kissing. Friends kiss all the time."

Brittany lets her body fall back into the pillows, taking all the kisses Santana gives her. "Not like this," she says and she pulls her lips away, so she can look into Santana's eyes. "You're meant to be figuring out everything first."

Santana rolls her eyes and sits up straight. "I don't even know where to begin."

Brittany wraps her arms around her and sighs, resting her head on Santana's shoulder. "Why don't we start by getting some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow."

Santana nods. "Disney World."

Brittany grins. "Fireworks."

/

Around 1am, Santana rolls over and finds that Quinn's side is still empty.

She leans up on her elbows and sighs, brow furrowed as she checks her phone to see if Quinn's left any messages.

When there's none, it takes her less than thirty seconds to jump out of bed, slip on some hotel slippers and a robe, and go searching.

She leans down to Brittany first and presses a kiss to her temple. "I'm going to look for Quinn," she whispers gentle. Brittany nods sleepily in response.

/

She heads downstairs and finds that it's still bustling with people. When she wanders into the lounge bar, she's shocked when she sees Quinn sitting at the bar with some guy in a suit.

Her body falls to one side, into the guy, and his hand rests too low on her back, almost on her ass. Santana sees red immediately and steps closer, preying on them like a lion as she listens and watches what he's doing. The guy keeps giving Quinn drinks and the barman looks unsure, but he doesn't argue.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Santana says, when he practically bends back Quinn's head and pours drink down her throat. "Look at her..."

The guy wraps his arm around Quinn's shoulders and pulls Quinn to his chest. Her feet hover off the floor and she reaches out for Santana as her eyes roll back into her head. She doesn't look_just_drunk. She looks like she's been paralyzed, almost.

The guy pulls Quinn out of Santana's reach. "Uh, excuse me, that's my fiancee and the state of her is none of your business."

The guy has slicked back hair, curved to the shape of his skull and his eyes are a piercing green that cuts through Santana with worry. She acts entirely on instinct.

"Uh, actually, she's my best friend," she says even though her body is rushing with panic. She tugs Quinn from his grasp. "Leave."

"No."

"Leave, now, or I'll call the cops and get you arrested."

He scoffs and shrugs. "I hardly think that'll do anything," he says trying to pull her back, "The gal's more willing than anyone here."

Santana nearly drops Quinn as she rounds on him. "Do you really think that matters when _the gal_is seventeen years-old?"

His face falls and his eyes widen. He's gone before Santana's even turned around and darts from the bar.

/

Quinn can barely stand, barely talk. Her usually chilly temperature is burning up to degrees that scare Santana. Just wrapping an arm around her scalds Santana's skin and she can't imagine what it must be like for Quinn whose heart pounds almost loud enough to hear from a distance.

"How long has she been here?" Santana asks the bartender.

He shrugs. "I only just started my shift."

"Do you have a phone?" Santana says as she pushes Quinn's hair back from her eyes and wipes her down with the cool cloth the bartender handed her.

"Yeah," he nods. "What room number?" She darts it off to him and he puts in the call to the front desk. While on hold, he presses it against the lapel of vest and clears this throat. "Looks like roofies to me, doll."

/

He comes wheeling around the corner and straight into the bar, looking terrified. Quinn's still propped up against Santana and he halts when he sees her.

"Santana, she needs to go to a..."

"_No_, she doesn't," Santana cuts through him quickly. "She needs to go to bed and we need to find out what _we_can do," she informs him unsteadily, relieved that he's there but unable to show it. Her face softens with worry and she shakes her head unsure, but adamant that she's doing the right thing. "She doesn't need this as well."

/

Brittany looks confused when she opens the door to them, but she's awake instantly when she sees the looks on their faces and the state of Quinn.

"What happened?" she says opening the door wider and ushering them in.

Santana shakes her head. "Britt, get my computer. Turn it on, I need you to google how to treat roofies."

Quinn chooses that moment to come round a little. "I'm gonna be..." she heaves and Santana tugs her off Artie's lap onto the floor by the toilet, letting her empty the contents of her stomach.

/

Brittany lingers in the doorway, biting her fingernails. Artie sits in his chair beside them with Santana's laptop on his knees.

(The look he gave her when he saw her desktop background is something that both made her feel proud and ashamed).

Santana holds Quinn over the toilet as she barfs up what looks like very little food and a helluva lotta booze.

"She needs a hospital, they can tell us if she's been roofied or not."

"No, she doesn't!" Santana shouts. Brittany flinches. "If we go to a hospital, they call her mom and then the trip's over and we all go home."

Artie scoffs at her. "Is that all you care about? Whether we go to _Florida_ or not?"

Santana turns to him. "No," she spits. "I care about Quinn getting the trip she needs so that she could get over all that Lima crap, all the guys treating her like shit, all the lies and all that other bullshit that she's desperate to get over so she can fix herself. Don't you get that there are bigger things to fix here than the fact that maybe Quinn got drugged by some douche in a bar?"

Artie goes to speak. Quinn's pretty much asleep on the bathroom floor. Brittany hides behind the doorframe. "Why the fuck was she in the damn bar getting hit on by strangers in the first place, Artie? We were getting drunk already. Why was it so important for her to leave, huh?" She glares at him adamantly. "There are bigger things going on here. Bigger fucking things."

He looks down at his feet and Santana's eyes grow wide as she realizes what that sinking feeling in her gut has been all along.

Worry.

/

They finally get Quinn into bed. Brittany insists that they both share with her, just in case, and she agrees. She doesn't agree when Artie says he should stay too.

"We've got this," she says. He opens his mouth to protest. She presses a hand to his chest to stop him wheeling forward. "We've got this," she repeats in a voice that says "I _will_ punch you."

She slips out of her robe and moves into the space in front of Brittany. An arm curls around her body and Brittany cuddles against her, even though she's pretty sure this isn't part of the plan.

"I don't like it when you swear," Brittany mumbles against her neck.

Santana nods and sighs. "I know, I'm sorry," she whispers.

When Brittany curls their fingers together, she leans forward to Quinn's outstretched hand and covers their joined hands with hers, not wanting her to feel alone.

/

At 3.47am, she's still not asleep. Brittany steadily breathes against her neck, but every time Quinn moves, it feels like something bad is going to happen.

Worry feels like ten thousand volts of electricity and the last thing she wants to do is rest.

/

Her hand reaches out for Quinn when she wakes up and she almost throws up when the sheets beside her are empty.

Brittany's still there though, and she stirs the same minute Santana does, the same panic coursing through her veins as she unwraps her arm from around Santana.

They search the room from top to bottom, even peering over the edge of the balcony, hoping that they don't meet a flurry of police cars and ambulances surrounding their best friend's mangled body.

They get dressed quickly and in silence.

/

They knock on Artie and Puck's room before they head downstairs, but no one's there. Santana bangs on all the others' doors and wakes up everyone else, but they haven't seen them.

Brittany grabs Santana's hand and tells her to calm down, that everything's going to be okay. She finds it hard to believe it through the overwhelming, stomach-churning worry.

/

It's not what she expects when they finally find her.

"What's wrong with you?" Quinn says as she sits next to Artie, Puck and Tina at the breakfast table, surrounded by food, orange juice and a fresh cup of coffee that smells like heaven.

Santana's first reaction is an overwhelming need to slap her. "You're kidding me, right?"

"What?"

Quinn narrows her brow in confusion. Santana glares as Artie looks between them in confusion. Brittany takes both of Santana's hands in hers, knowing what will happen if she doesn't and Santana steps closer, as she warns her not to.

"Do you not remember anything?" Santana hisses, voice wavering. "Last night, you were... dammit, Quinn."

Quinn shrugs and Santana looks over her from head to toe, checking for signs that she wasn't imagining the throwing up and the limp weakness of her body that had been more terrifying than anything else. The only thing that looks wrong with her is the unusual sickly paleness of her skin.

Santana shakes her head, refusing to be wrong about this, and storms out of the dining room.

/

Santana punches walls as she storms through the hotel. Brittany stops her in a random empty hallway and wraps an arm around her shoulders so she can tug her into her neck.

Santana sniffles and sobs, feeling stupid for caring about Quinn Fabray.

"It's okay to be worried about her," Brittany mumbles against her temple. "It's okay. I am too. I am too."

/

The drive to Disney World is a quiet one. Santana ignores Quinn and Brittany looks between the pair of them with that anxious face again. Santana doesn't have the energy to try and make that face disappear when she's so angry at Quinn.

She ends up in a group with Brittany, Quinn, Artie and Puck again, but Tina and Mike join them too.

Quinn doesn't talk to her, but Santana notices the way that her face grows tense when Artie starts laughing with Tina.

/

When Artie isn't talking with Tina, he's talking to Quinn.

For someone who says she isn't interested in him, Quinn flirts shamelessly with Artie, placing lingering touches to his shoulders, his knees and his hands. She laughs at all of his dorky jokes and keeps up with Tina who looks like she's doing just the same.

Artie basks in the attention like he gets it everyday, smiling and beaming with pride at the idea of two girls fawning over him.

Santana feels most sorry for Mike who glares at all three of them, desperate to say something, but obviously not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of the line for _It's a small world_.

/

It's a win-win situation for Santana when Artie can't go on _Space Mountain_ like the rest want to. She offers to wait behind with him, both because she can't handle the thought of another roller coaster so soon after the ordeal that was yesterday, and also because she needs to get him to back the heck off.

They load everyone's bags onto Artie's wheelchair and head off to get smoothies.

It's complete silence for about fifteen minutes until Artie breaks it.

"This is fun," he says.

"You need to back off Fabray," Santana says at the same time. Artie leans back in shock at the outburst, his face growing in quick confusion until his eyes are narrowing in suspicion. Santana shrugs. "She doesn't need another guy who's no good for her screwing her up."

Artie scoffs in indignation. He looks a little angry. "Let me guess, you want to steal her off me too?"

She grins because, seriously, the kid's an idiot. "First of all: She's not yours yet, maestro. She's nobodies and, when I asked her, she said that she wasn't even interested in you. Second of all: I didn't steal anything or anyone from you, Rollerboy. It's kind of impossible when she was mine in the first place."

"She was my girlfriend. She's your best friend. They're on completely different levels. You manipulated and stole her from me."

Santana pulls him so that his knees are almost touching hers. She shakes her head softly and tries not to smile. "You really don't get anything, do you? You stole her from _me._She was mine first."

_She was mine first..._

The words echo in her head as Artie's face furrows and falls, and she's pretty sure there's no greater feeling than the reassurance that her words are completely true.

/

She agrees to go on _Splash Mountain_, just because of how hot it is and she doesn't want to have sit alone with Artie any longer than she already has.

Brittany smiles at her and bumps their hips together, constantly asking her if she's okay. Santana stares at Quinn, who scoffs at Puck as he makes lewd comments about Quinn getting wet, and thinks about what she can say to her best friend without actually making her think that she gives a crap.

She's about to ask Quinn if she wants to go get something to eat after this, when Tina's voice almost bursts her eardrum.

"GOD. IF YOU CARE ABOUT YOUR MOTHER SO MUCH, WHY DON'T YOU MARRY HER INSTEAD?" Tina shouts so hard it's difficult to believe that she used to be the quiet girl with the stutter. "YOU OBVIOUSLY CARE MORE ABOUT WHAT SHE THINKS THAN YOU DO ABOUT WHAT I WANT!"

"You told me that you want this too..." Mike says as loud as he can in his gentle voice.

"Staring dumbly at you and looking wide-eyed at the Asian wedding brochures you put in front of my face is not me agreeing to or wanting this," Tina says. "I'm going to college and I'm going to be super successful and I don't need some mommy's boy telling me what to do for the next fifty years!"

"Then why didn't you –"

"How the hell am I meant to get a word in edgewise with your mother in the room?" Tina says as she turns on her heels out of the line. They've just hit the ten minutes to go spot. Tina turns back when Mike hopelessly calls after her. "FYI," she says, "The way to ask a girl to marry you is not to go casually mention that your mom already booked out Mr Wong's restaurant for summer 2015! You're meant to get down on one knee, profess your love and offer her everything you have! You're not meant to pass the last egg roll!"

Santana would laugh, but she's not sure what in the hell is going on. Brittany takes her hand, squeezing tightly, and she figures that it's probably something not good.

/

Santana gets a text from Artie ten minutes later saying that he's taking Tina somewhere so that she can calm down and they can talk.

Quinn reads it over her shoulder and it's hard to discern whether the look on her face is jealousy or friendly disapproval.

Brittany sits in front with Mike after Puck gets lost in the line hitting on some German girls who can barely understand him. Santana sits beside Quinn at the back.

When Quinn snorts and playfully rolls her eyes at the worried look on her face, Santana's sure that there's nothing to worry about.

/

Puck sits at the table across from them with some other girls he's found when they finally get off the ride. They're all a little soaked and Brittany whips off her shirt again to reveal her bikini as they sit on the grass and dry off.

Brittany and Quinn console and listen to Mike as he states his case, trying not to blubber as he tells them how much he really loves Tina. Why else would he want to marry her?

It's all a lot of _I'm not that kind of guy_and _I never meant to make her feel trapped_ being repeated over and over again, but Santana listens in silence and believes Mike Chang is nothing if not genuine and honest.

It's the "It feels like she's pulling away" that gets to Santana and she looks at him sadly, because he has this lost look about him like he doesn't know where it all went wrong.

She shares a look with Brittany and Quinn, because they were all listening when Tina was talking in the car the other day, and find that they have very little else to say. Instead, Brittany wraps her arms around him and holds on tight.

/

They leave Puck and go on _Pirates of the Caribbean_. Mike sits at the front with Quinn, still talking about Tina, and Santana and Brittany sit at the back and flick water at each other from over the sides.

Brittany is a lot disappointed when Johnny Depp doesn't jump out at the end, but it's pretty fun anyway.

/

Quinn leaves with Mike as he goes off to look for Tina and Artie.

Santana watches her leave in discomfort, not wanting to leave her for longer than necessary. She kicks at loose stones as they they disappear into a crowd of tourists and debates whether she should follow after her or not.

She hates this feeling, hates it more than all the other unwanted feelings she's been struggling with for longer than she can remember. It feels more important, scarier.

Brittany tugs on her arm and she grunts as she collides with a big brawny bald guy in a vest and cycle shorts. She grimaces as Brittany continues to tug her and doesn't stop until they're alone under a tree.

When Brittany wraps her arms around her tightly and makes sure they're touching everywhere, she feels more at ease than she has all day. She melts into the embrace and sighs because Brittany always seems to be just what she needs to feel better.

"What's this for?" Santana mumbles against her neck, not caring that her lips whisper over the skin there. She licks them and finds that Brittany tastes like sweat, perfume and the chlorine from the water rides.

Brittany giggles low in her chest. "You looked like you needed it."

/

They arrive last at the meeting point on the bench in Main Street USA, walking in on an already happening debate about how to spend their Forth of July evening.

For once, they all amiably agree that they should get changed, have dinner then come back to the park to see the fireworks and parades at 9pm.

/

Rachel requests to do some shopping before they leave to get ready, having saved doing it until they leave, but not wanting to carry it around all day or night.

They all go with her, needing to find gifts for siblings and parents. Santana follows Brittany around, knowing that her parents wouldn't appreciate any gifts from Disney World when they go here almost every year, and watches as Brittany picks things up and looks at them before putting them back again.

The cash in her bag feels like it's been burning a hole there for days. Apart from the motels they've been randomly staying at, she's hardly used any of her money at all, her dad having forced her to put a lot of her costs on his credit card. She wanders away from Brittany, as she stands amongst a display of plates and mugs painted with the faces of classic Disney characters, and heads in the opposite direction.

/

She drags Brittany around the corner, once she sees her exit the store with her small, lonely bag of purchases, and laughs when Brittany's eyes cross in confusion.

"Here," she whispers softly and hands Brittany the bag in her hand. Brittany narrows her eyes, but can't stop the smile that grows on her face as she takes it.

Once she's holding the not too big, not too small plushy toy in her hands, Santana shrugs her shoulders and lets her face turn pink.

"I know Goofy's your favorite," she shrugs timidly. "And I don't know if you're going to get to meet him tonight or anything; I just didn't want you to come to Disney World for the first time and not have a souvenir of your favorite character."

Brittany smiles and shakes her head, like she can't believe how ridiculously sappy Santana is, and pushes her against the wall. With the toy tucked under one arm, she pins Santana where she wants her with a gentle press of her palm to collar bone. She kisses her, long and slow, like Santana's wanted to do all day, not stopping even when a moan breaks free of her best friend's mouth.

"I'm not sorry for that," Brittany tells her when she pulls away. "You're really cute."

Santana's heart feels too big for her chest. When they finally get back to the others, they make up the excuse that they got lost looking for the bathroom. Or something.

/

Downtown Disney is only a five minute walk from their hotel and it's the easiest and most obvious option for dinner before heading off for the fireworks. It's 4:30 and they make a reservation at Fulton's Crab House for 6:30, knowing that way they'll have enough time to get ready _and_ make it back to the park for the fireworks once they're done eating.

They get back to the hotel shortly after and everyone drifts to their rooms. Santana notices Brittany keeps staring at her as they get ready, looking away when she gets caught.

For a moment she thinks she's imagining it, but then she sees Quinn rolling her eyes and shaking her head at them.

"As much as it's annoying," she whispers when Brittany disappears into the bathroom. "This two-step you two keep doing is kind of cute."

Santana pushes her away but smirks anyway.

/

At 6pm exactly, it's like World War Three breaks out on the eighth floor. Their room is between Finn and Rachel's room and Kurt and Blaine's, across from Tina and Mike's, and shouting comes from all three rooms as though on a timer.

"Stop forcing me!"

"I'm _not_a child!"

"This _isn't_ about your mother!"

Santana flops backwards onto the bed and throws her arm over her eyes. Brittany joins her a moment later, curling herself around a pillow and staring expectantly at the door. Quinn paces the room.

/

After about fifteen minutes and extremely thin walls, Santana's pretty sure that she's got what everyone's so worked up about.

To their left, Finn's bitching at Rachel about how she keeps teasing him, saying she wants it and then changing her mind. Santana actually gets pretty pissed when he tells her she should get over it and just do it because he's not going to wait forever. Rachel cries as she tries to explain how she feels, but Finn won't listen to any of it. Santana's seconds away from walking in there and punching that asshole, and she would if she knew it wouldn't earn her a betrayed look from Quinn.

To their right, Kurt and Blaine are arguing about how Blaine treated Kurt in New Orleans, how he's treated him for a long time. They heatedly discuss how the fact that Kurt's more reserved and innocent views on sex don't warrant Blaine treating him like a child or teasing him, because he doesn't like the idea of sex being any more than two people showing each other how much they loved each other. There's a lot of other stuff about how Kurt doesn't want to be some slut who sleeps with lots of boys, and it all just makes Santana uncomfortable.

Then Tina and Mike are just rehashing the same things over and over again, talking about his mom, feminism, women as being independent from men, yada yada yada. There's some stuff about how Tina's been acting around Artie and Santana darts her eyes between Quinn and Brittany because she'd kinda thought they were the only ones who had noticed.

In the end, Santana kind of gets bored of running between the two walls and the hall, and they all just take one spot each. Quinn ends up listening in to Kurt and Blaine, Brittany gets Finchel, and Santana hovers in the hallway listening to Tina and Mike.

/

At 6:30, Santana kicks the door because they're not going to make it to their reservation.

"I wonder why none of the others have come in here," Quinn wonders out loud.

"Puck and Artie went to get drink for when we get back," Brittany says. "Artie came by when you two were doing your make up to ask me if we wanted anything special. I told him to surprise us."

Santana laughs and shakes her head. " Yeah, and Wheezy and Trouty Mouth said they'd meet us at the fireworks, remember?"

Quinn nods and makes a little noise in remembrance.

"It's kind of nice," Brittany says after a moment. "That they have somebody."

Quinn and Santana nod in agreement.

/

At 7:30, an hour later and with no signs of temporary reconciliation between anyone, things begin to look bleak. Santana paces the room angrily, with Brittany following after her trying to calm her down, but it's pointless. Finally, Quinn gets up with a groan.

"I think I'm going to go see if Artie and Puckerman are back with the booze yet," she says and exits the room without another word.

Santana stops the minute she turns back and Brittany's right in front of her.

She's angry. They're in an empty room, alone together. Her entire body is warm and buzzing.

"I've got to get out of here," she groans and grabs her jacket.

/

She's smoking when Brittany finds her. It's the first one she's had the entire trip, even though she's had a pack in her jacket since Puckerman threw them into her lap back home.

The sharpness of the menthol fills her lungs and she blows rings into the air as she perches on the end of a sun lounger by the pool. She's pretty sure she's not meant to be here, but when has that ever stopped her?

She's kind of surprised when Brittany doesn't chastise her, but takes the cigarette from her hand and takes a puff herself. Santana's eyebrows dart up her forehead and she smiles when Brittany screws up her nose and blows out the silvery swirl of smoke.

Her dislike doesn't stop it from being one of the hottest things that Santana's ever seen.

"This isn't the vacation that you and Quinn wanted it to be, is it?" Brittany asks softly. The sunset reflects in the pool and they both stare at it.

Santana laughs and shakes her head. "Nope. It was meant to be just us, getting away and figuring out all our shit." She blows out another puff of silky smoke and watches it curl into the air. "The shit was never meant to follow us here."

Brittany tugs on the edge of her dress. "Does that mean me too?"

Santana turns to her softly and shakes her head. "You're the only good thing about it."

/

They lay back on the same sun lounger and watch as the sky goes from blue to black. They can hear bustle and celebration in the background, but the only sound Santana listens to is the gentle rhythm of Brittany's breathing and the movement of the water.

It's nice, just being with Brittany.

"When did you know?" Brittany breaks the silence, Santana turns to look at her, admiring the profile of her face for a moment. "When did you know that you were... you know?"

Santana takes in a deep breath. They haven't talked in such a long, long time. They used to talk so much that sometimes it felt like they had nothing left to talk about. That was usually when they started making out. Now, it seems like they've found the only subject they've never talked about and the only one that ever really needed to be discussed in the first place.

"I've always known that I wasn't like everyone else. I've always known that I'm attracted to girls," she mumbles self-consciously. "But, after you started dating Artie, I guess. I tried to be with all those boys, and all the other girls were with boys and I just didn't understand what was so special, about being with them. I mean, the sex is okay and everything, sometimes. But none of it made me feel as good as when I was with – "

She trails off awkwardly and takes another deep breath.

"Me," Brittany finishes for her, with a blush on her cheeks. Santana nods and Brittany reaches for her hand, locking their fingers together. 

When Brittany turns on her side, Santana's breathing shallows. She leans up on her elbow and looks down over Santana, switching hands so they're locked over Santana's stomach.

"How do I make you feel?" Brittany asks without warning, unabashedly without worry for the consequence.

She turns away shyly. "You know how you make me feel, Britt."

"No, I don't," Brittany shakes her head. "I know you love me, but I don't know how that makes you feel. I want you to tell me. Sometimes, it feels like you hate me because you love me. Sometimes it feels like you love me but you don't want to love me. Because I love that I love you and it scares me that you might not, because it's awesome."

Santana takes in a breath, it catches in her throat and she gulps it away but the sudden thick feeling there won't leave her. Brittany isn't looking at her anymore and she tugs on Brittany's hand, playing with her fingers.

"It's the best feeling in the world," Santana whispers gently. Brittany's mouth twitches with a smile.

"When you're performing, do you get like, that really fast feeling in your chest?" Santana goes on. "That thumping where it feels like your heart is going to jump out of your ribcage?" Brittany nods encouragingly. "Well, you make me feel like that, only better. But sometimes it feels like the worst feeling, too. Not because I don't like it, or because I can't stop it, but because it hurts so much or because it's my fault we can't be together." Santana shakes her head at the sky. "I hate that I'm too scared to hold your hand or tell people, and I know that it hurts you too a lot, but I want you to know that it hurts me too."

"San..."

"No," Santana she shakes her head. "I can't if you stop me," she tells her turning onto her side.

Her heart pounds unsteadily, but she doesn't stop. Brittany's eyes sparkle into hers, searching her face like she's transformed into something new. She studies her carefully and Santana grasps at her hand like it's the only way to tether herself where she is and not get lost.

"I want to be with you," Santana says. "I've always wanted to be with you and I'm in love with you and you're the only thing in this shitty world that makes me happy. More than anything, you make me happy."

She clutches their hands against the pounding in her chest.

"It's so hard being near you sometimes," she gasps letting Brittany feel her heart rattling inside of her, ready to give out. "It's so hard because I'm so scared that I'll never be strong enough, or I'll ruin us or that it won't work out. And I feel so guilty, but you still make me so _happy_, Britt, and it doesn't seem fair. You've been so patient, but I can't do it. I can't even let myself be happy for you..."

Brittany rests back down, her head moving closer to Santana's. Her spare hand curls into Santana's hair and she gasps at the feeling of warm and familiar fingertips stroking over her scalp.

"You're my best friend, Britt... I don't want to ruin that... I can't ruin that... I can't ruin us." She shrugs and a sob hiccups from her. "What will I do?"

Brittany kisses her then, once, quickly. "You're silly, if you think that we've only ever _just_ been best friends," she whispers against Santana's lips. "We'll never _just_be best friends. How could we be if I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you? So stop worrying."

Santana smiles and leans into her. "I wish was better," she sighs. "I wish I could be better for you."

Brittany shakes her head and kisses Santana's temple. She says nothing in response.

/

Brittany's giggle carries across the warm air like honey, thick and syrupy, coating her in warmth. It's still not really dark yet, but they remain cuddled together on the lounger, talking about all the things they were always too scared to say.

"You tasted like cherries," Brittany giggles. "Cherries and warm, milky coffee. I remember I kissed you because you smelt so good. You looked so terrified."

Santana smirks. "I was terrified. I still am."

"But you looked excited too, like you'd been waiting for it forever."

"That's because I _had_ been waiting for it."

"It always reminds me of you, that smell," Brittany says, thumb running over Santana's bottom lip like she can remember it right now. Santana looks at her as Brittany sighs, her face dropping with sadness.

"I'm scared too, you know?" she whispers after Santana frowns questioningly.

"About what?"

Brittany shrugs. "That you'll never forgive yourself for waiting so long if we get together. That you'll still be scared and won't tell me and it'll hurt you... That I'm no good at making you believe that it'll be worth it and that's why you're still keeping it secret. I'm scared that I'm not good enough for you and I'm making you do this for nothing, because I know you're only doing it for me."

Santana looks at her in disbelief. It's her that's made her believe these things, these stupid, ridiculous things. There are all those people out there telling Brittany she's not good enough and Santana's not brave enough to step up and tell them that they're wrong.

"God, Brittany," she whispers, instead of the apology she feels like she needs to give, and pulls Brittany to her. She lets her lips do what her words can't, and informs Brittany that she's more than enough.

/

Somewhere along the way, the plan goes out the window and Brittany ends up on top of her, kissing her with a precise laziness that makes her legs turn to jelly. Santana's glad that they're hidden beneath a palm tree, that it's dark, that there's so little lighting. Not for the obvious reasons, but because now something, like sunshine or people walking by, can't ruin this moment she shares with Brittany.

"We're still kissing," Brittany mumbles against her neck as they cuddle. "I thought you said you wanted us to stop that."

Santana smiles and runs her fingers across Brittany's back, hating the fabric stopping her from mapping out every single curve and indentation of her body. "We can stop again later," she mumbles because she's too warm and comfortable to care.

Brittany shifts and Santana turns to find herself looking into deep blue eyes with fingers stroking against her chin. Brittany bores into her in a way that she's not familiar or comfortable with, and it makes her body feel like it's on fire. Fingers tap a pattern against her jaw and Brittany sighs.

"What's wrong?"

Brittany shakes her head. "Nothing."

"No," Santana says in refusal. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, it's stupid," she mumbles, burying her face in Santana's shoulder for a moment. "It's stupid and I shouldn't even be thinking it when we're not... you know."

Santana's interest piques substantially and she licks her lips.

"No, what is it? You can say anything to me."

Brittany worries her lip and prepares herself. Santana prepares herself too, taking a deep breath and holding it. "It's just... I hate the fact that we've never... that we might never get a chance to..."

She cuts off and the anticipation gets too much to Santana. "To what?"

Brittany laughs and rolls her eyes. "Make love," she shrugs. Brown eyes try not to widen. "I hate that we might never get that, you know? I mean, what we have had is awesome, but it's not the same. It scares me that I'll never get to find out what it feels like, what you taste like..."

Santana's jaw drops opens and her eyes dart all across Brittany's face as she shrugs and looks back. Her legs squeeze together and the hand in Brittany's hair stills.

"I'm scared that I won't get to find out if you still feel the same," Brittany goes on like she's talking about the weather. "What you might look like naked underneath me, how your skin feels under my lips or if you'll say my name when you fall apart now that everything's changed." Dreamy blue eyes wander off into a land of imagination and Santana watches every flicker in them. "Not finding out any of those things really scares me."

Santana clears her throat to speak and the words barely form on her lips. They certainly don't make a sound, but Brittany knows anyway.

"It's what I always wanted," she explains. "Right from the very first time, for us to make love and for me to not have to worry if you feel the same way, because I know we love each other."

She smiles and her hand curls around Santana's cheek.

"I just... I want to fall asleep with your skin against my skin, and wake up after and you still be there next to me. You're never there when I wake up," she frowns like she can't understand why and Santana clutches her tighter. "I want to kiss you good morning and whisper I love you in your ear, to do it all over again in the daylight." Brittany shrugs, like it's nothing when, to Santana, it feels like everything. "That's what I want, just once. That's all I've ever wanted for as long as I can remember... To be all yours."

/

Around 8:30, Brittany sits up with a groan, stretching out her arms above her head. Santana silently watches her body as it moves.

"We should go meet up with everyone," Brittany says timidly. Santana hasn't spoken since her confession.

She sits up too. Nerves bubble in her stomach and she looks away as she speaks. "Or we could... stay here," she says noncommittally but nervous. "I don't think anyone would miss us."

Brittany looks unsure. "But... the fireworks..."

Santana shrugs and shifts away. "We'll probably have a better view from our room."

Brittany looks at her for a few moments, debating her options. She finally nods in agreement and Santana's jaw drops, nerves curdling inside of her as Brittany stands up and reaches out for her hand.

/

They see Artie on the way. Santana doesn't say anything as he approaches. That doesn't stop it being incredibly awkward.

"Have you seen Quinn?"

Brittany looks at Santana and she looks back. They both shake their head, wordlessly.

"I got a message from her saying she was looking for me, but I haven't seen her," Artie says looking at the two ends of the hall like Quinn might miraculously appear. He turns back. "Are you looking for her too? Have you checked your room?"

"That's where we were going," Brittany tells him.

"Oh, cool," he says. "I think I'll check the bar. Then I'm going to go to the park and see if she went to join the others now that they've stopped arguing."

Santana and Brittany stare at him. "That's a good idea," Santana says finally. "We might do that too."

"You want me to wait for you?" Artie asks.

"NO!" Brittany says a little too loudly. Santana sucks in her bottom lip. "No, we'll just make our own way there."

Artie nods, unfazed. "Okay, I'll see you guys later."

/

"Maybe we should call Quinn," Brittany says softly. "Make sure she's okay. Maybe she doesn't want to watch the fireworks, either. We could watch movies and get some snacks. We could go leave people mean messages on Facebook like we used to... we could order in a pizza. Hotels do that, right? I'm really hungry. Or we could gossip or we could... _Oh..."_

Brittany's babbling stops when Santana crawls up behind where she sits on the edge of the bed and brushes away a curtain of hair from her neck, replacing it with a kiss. Santana lets kisses rain down on the skin she reveals and reaches to grip at her Brittany's shoulder to steady her.

"Santana..." Brittany breathes heavily, her body reacting instantly. "You said we shouldn't... You don't want to do this... _Oh_..."

Santana shakes her head and doesn't let up, opening her mouth to Brittany's skin. "I want all the things you said earlier. I want that. I want us to... _make love_," she sighs as Brittany turns to look at her in disbelief and pulls away. "I want to make love. With you. I want to make love with you."

It must be the honesty and certainty in Santana's voice that convinces her. She turns to her completely, resting a hand on Santana's cheek again. With a nod, she consents. "Okay," she whispers with sudden nervousness. "Yes."

/

Santana slides on the chain lock and puts a chair in front of the door. Brittany puts on the TV while they get ready, turning off all the lights, and opening the blinds and curtains to the twinkling of the city.

They put on their pajamas, and it's funny how that's comforting. It's like being at a sleepover and they crawl under the covers from opposite sides of the bed, meeting in the middle. It's a cliche to say that it feels like the first time all over again, but it does. Even down to the way that the TV reflects in Brittany's eyes or how the low volume of it doesn't really make a sound at all.

"You okay?" Santana asks, because it feels like, even if she can't be honest with the world, like Brittany wants her too, she can still give her this. She can give her this and that'll make it better.

Brittany nods, but she's shaking and Santana's stomach drops. It's not cold, it's not even chilly. The room is the perfect temperature, and the covers are a little stuffy, if she's honest, but they're safe. The anticipation, however, makes the room buzz.

"Can we just lay here for a while?" she asks and Santana nods, willing to give her everything.

/

Brittany looks like she could go to sleep, but her heavy-lidded eyes stare back into Santana's wide awake ones as they lay there together. It already feels new.

"What are you thinking about?" Brittany asks finally.

Santana takes a deep breath at the question and shakes her head. "Nothing," she lies because, really, she has no idea how to articulate what's going through her head. "What are you thinking about?"

Brittany reaches for her hand. "I just... I keep thinking about what you've been saying over the past couple of days," Brittany mutters gently. "You know, about how you don't want this thing to ruin us."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Brittany nods. "I've been thinking about it a lot, and I just, I want you to know that you'll never lose me. No matter what, I'll always want to be a part of your life. I'll always be your friend, no matter what, and even if it doesn't feel good enough. I'll be your friend and I'll never leave you. You're too important for me to walk away. For as long as you want me to be a part of your life, I will be."

Her eyes glaze over with tears and she shakes her head in refusal as she speaks. "How can you know that?"

Brittany smiles in that proud way she does when she knows something Santana doesn't. "Because I love you," she says matter-of-factly.

Santana gulps painfully. Oxygen refuses its way into her lungs.

"Kiss me," she gasps, breathlessly. "Kiss me," she tugs at Brittany's shoulder, her t-shirt. "God, just kiss me."

/

They're kissing when the first firework goes off. It's distant and barely a noise at all, and they pull away for a second before they tug each other back into a kiss.

It's a different kind of kiss than Santana's used to entirely and she gladly lets Brittany take the lead, letting her climb atop her and anchor herself above Santana's body.

She doesn't need to pretend anymore. Unhindered by the need to repress the things she's desperate for, the feel of Brittany kissing and holding her makes her feel like she's slipping away into a world she never knew existed. Everything around her goes cloudy with want and need and she can do nothing more than grasp for Brittany and do everything she can to make sure she doesn't let go.

She's embarrassingly wet, too wet, and she groans because she knows that this isn't going to take long at all. She anticipates the embarrassment of probably lasting only a few seconds, and closes her eyes to hold off on coming just from the feel of Brittany kissing down her neck and sucking deliberately at her pulse. They don't even have their clothes off yet.

"Britt Britt..." she groans, remembering. Her hand slides under Brittany's top and Brittany tugs her to sit up, yanking at the fabric of Santana's own shirt until it bunches around her breasts. She stops then, and Santana groans as Brittany's hands seem to remember where her breasts are, cupping over them and touching them from memory.

It's going to fast and Santana's swept up in a whirlwind. She holds on and moans, gasping Brittany's name as slowly, piece by piece, Brittany removes their clothes. A long, lithe body hovers over her and blond hair tickles her chest as Brittany stares down at how her underwear hugs her hips. Santana feels stupid for wearing a bra for bed as she feels Brittany's breasts graze her stomach. Brittany drags Santana into her lap and kisses hurriedly at her neck and shoulders as she unsnaps her bra, and smooths it down her arms.

When Brittany looks into her face and cups her breasts before sliding one uncontrollable hand down the plane of her stomach, Santana closes her eyes trying to stave off her impending release.

Brittany's hand disappears beneath her underwear, and she quakes as a single digit circles her clit just once before withdrawing. The arm wrapped around her hips, keeping her steady in Brittany's lap, slides up her back, around her neck to her jaw. When Santana feels her chin being tilted back down until their noses touch, she lets her heavy eyes flutter open and her grip tighten.

Brittany stares into her and it feels like they're the only two things in existence. It occurs to Santana that she's staring into her entire world and, with another circle of the finger still inside of her underwear, her entire body tenses and she moans with her release.

/

Brittany brushes hair from her face and she blushes, embarrassed.

"Sorry," she mumbles breathlessly. Brittany smiles and presses a kiss to her lips. "It's been a while."

Brittany nods and kisses her until she's pressed against the pillows. "Tell me about it," she says as she scrambles to straddle Santana's hips.

/

The fireworks are still flashing across the sky, but the only ones she sees are the ones behind her eyelids as Brittany runs her hands and her lips over her body, and Santana knows that she's memorizing every part of her.

"I want to touch you," she whispers hurriedly as Brittany tilts her chin to the side so she can sucks at the joint of her jaw.

Brittany shakes her head, fingers raking down over her abs, feeling them tense as they reach the edge of her underwear. "Later," she hums and starts kissing her all over again, making sure that only a few important inches of skin are left untouched.

Every new sensation burns into her skin so that she can remember it forever. It's a far cry from the familiar ache left by her refusal to feel anything other than the need for release, and Brittany's fingers fumbling to work her up and over the edge that she usually feels. There's less control too as Brittany surrounds every part of her. She's all she can feel, all she can see, all she can taste and smell. Brittany completely overpowers her and she loves it.

"I wanna taste you," Brittany says and she grinds down on the leg she has trapped tightly between her own. "I need to..."

Santana freezes, taking a moment, but then she nods.

/

She lays with her arms outstretched on either side of her, back flat to the mattress. She's known that Brittany's wanted to do this for a while. She could tell in the way that Brittany let her kisses linger too low on her stomach and the way that she would toy with Santana's underwear before Santana yanked her back up and forced her against the mattress.

It wasn't that she didn't want to do it, but the last time they did this, she was still insisting she was straight. Straight girls don't let their best friends do _that_ to them, and straight girls certainly don't return the favor, so she never let it happen. But that doesn't mean she didn't spend days and nights wondering what it would be like, what it would feel like, to the point of overwhelming guilt and anger and frustration.

And as Brittany kisses her so deeply that it feels like she's breaking down every atom inside of her, she finds it impossible to even think about anything that isn't Brittany slowly making her way down her body with prolonged and gentle kisses. Each one feels like a promise to look after her and Santana lets her body relax completely as nimble fingers grip at her underwear and tug it down her legs.

Brittany kneels at her ankles, shamelessly stroking her calves. Santana lifts her legs thoughtlessly as they work together to untangle the fabric from her ankles, but her breath hitches when Brittany takes an ankle in each hand and stares longingly at the most intimate part of her.

/

She thought that the first orgasm would take the edge off the months it's been since anyone touched her, but it doesn't. Brittany's hungry eyes bore into her, controlling her until her eyes roll back into her head and she's arching off the bed in anticipation.

Kisses linger over her ankles, up her calves. One hand drifts up between her legs as Brittany flattens herself to the bed and cups over her for barely a moment before a thumb presses firm circles around her clit, flicking lazily at it until she's grasping at Brittany's wrist and groaning in warning.

Brittany smiles against her thigh and darts her tongue out to lick over the sweat that already covers her skin, nipping her teeth sharply there. Her thumb doesn't let up and presses harder, more purposeful circles and Santana comes again, her entire body shaking as Brittany soothes her movements to the point where it's torture how slowly her orgasm is being drawn from her.

Fuck, she'd forgotten how good Brittany was at this. She'd forgotten how Brittany could always make it count, even within Santana's silently imposed guidelines.

She whimpers Brittany's name, gasps it, begs it and pants it as the thumb still circling her replaces with two able fingers that press even more firmly.

"I've thought about this for so long," Brittany mumbles mischievously. Santana almost sobs as she looks down and sees Brittany, her mouth so close to where she wants it, but still so far.

/

"Britt... Brittany, I can't..." she gasps a little while later. She feels pathetic for the decline in her stamina, but Brittany seems to love it. "I can't... I can't..."

Without warning, something new swipes over her as the fingers leave her. Her eyes fly open and her begging stops, the entire room slipping into silence as all air sucks out of the room. Santana gasps at the feel of wet tongue on wet heat.

It's the strangest but most welcome feeling she's ever felt, and she grits her teeth when Brittany joyously chuckles against her. She laps at Santana and Santana bucks into her. Unsurprisingly, pressure builds in her again, but it's different. It's softer, smoother, deeper and all her muscles tense, waiting.

Brittany explores her just like she expected and Santana takes a deep, steady breath in and holds it to calm herself enough to fully indulge in the experience. She listens to the way that Brittany makes little noises against her, mumbles words softly against her skin and the way every exhale hits her in just the right place. Brittany sucks at her clit and she gasps, bringing her hands to tangle in wild, blond hair.

Her hips cant and her breathing leaves her so shallowly that she looks down and catches Brittany looking at her with worry. She nods to tell her that it's okay, and their eyes lock, making it feel better. Santana leans up to get a better look, and her limbs are like marshmallows as she pushes the hair from Brittany's face and watches her mouth as it works against her.

The feeling drags out at such a satisfying and slow pace that the shock to her system she gets when Brittany pushes two fingers slowly inside of her, draws out a long and appreciative groan. She feels Brittany smiling at her again and she thrusts steadily, laps and sucks in time with every cant of her hips. Brittany takes every bit of breath from within her and Santana falls back against the pillows with a thud.

Her hips never reach the mattress again and she sighs out Brittany's name as her entire body descends into pleasure again and again and again.

/

Brittany kisses her way back up after spending five minutes collapsed on Santana's stomach with fingers raking through her hair.

Santana pulls her into a kiss, squeaking at the unfamiliar taste of herself on Brittany's lips and her fingers around Brittany's jaw.

Brittany laughs into her mouth and she can't fight the grin on her face either.

"I love you," Brittany whispers against her lips.

Santana nods and flips them with ease. "I love you too," she husks biting down on Brittany's bottom lip. "Why don't you let me show you how much?"

/

The wrestle of satisfying Brittany is something that she's always loved. The way her hips squirm, how warm she is, how her inner walls tug insistently when fingers are inside of her, wanting more.

And there's something about Brittany sitting astride her, riding against her fingers, and sucking lazily at her jaw, that's hotter than she knows how to explain.

She knows that the image of Brittany sitting up and pressing insistently down at the trio of fingers Santana strokes within her as she reaches one hand into her hair, will never leave her. Nor will the constant replay of Brittany's other hand as it slips down to grope at her breast and then even further to slide her fingers around her own clit.

But most of all, she knows that she'll always remember how Brittany keeps herself steady with a hand pressed to Santana's chest, over her heart. She knows that she'll always remember how Brittany's movements are in time with the erratic beat of Santana's pulse, moving with such familiarity, that it's like it's a song she's been dancing to her entire life.

But more than anything, she knows that, when she looks back to this moment, she'll always remember the look in Brittany's eyes as she pants _I love you_ over and over again into her mouth, like it's the only words she knows.

/

She's not sure which one of them dozes off first, but when Santana wakes up, Brittany's stood naked at the window, looking out at the fireworks in the far off distance, still exploding in the sky.

Santana wraps herself in the sheet before letting her aching legs guide her across the room and press herself against Brittany's naked body. Arms wrap under Brittany's breasts and her lips litter aimless patterns of kisses over her back.

"I love you," Santana breathes, letting her tongue dart up Brittany's neck.

Brittany tilts her head to the side to give her more room, "I know. I love you too."

The dreamy tone to Brittany's voice makes her stop and she rests her chin against the curve of her shoulder, pressing one last kiss to the skin there.

"You okay?" she asks shyly.

Santana can see Brittany's expression in the reflection of the window and out the corner of her eyes. Her smile grows wide and slowly, her happiness blowing up like a balloon. "It was better than I dreamed it would be," she mumbles. "It was... perfect."

And as Brittany turns her head to catch her in a kiss, Santana agrees.

/

They're woken up at 4am by a knock at the door and the chain lock banging with exertion. Brittany jumps and reaches to hide them with the covers they kicked off back when they were just kissing.

"It's me," comes Quinn's muffled voice and Santana presses Brittany back into the pillows and covers her with the quilt as she wraps the sheet back around her body.

Brittany grabs at her arm as she moves to open the door, panicked. "But Quinn..." she starts.

"... already knows." Santana presses a kiss to her lips.

Brittany's smile is curious and she leans up to kiss her again. Santana navigates her way through discarded pillows and clothing to the door, pushing it back closed before she slides the lock off the door.

Quinn looks small when she walks in, but her eyes grow wide when she realizes what Santana is wearing.

"Where the heck have you been?" Santana asks blearily.

Quinn just stares at them, one after another, eyes wide and knowing. Santana stares at the deer-in-the-headlights look that Quinn has over face and begins to worry. It's then that she notices the bundle of clothing Quinn has in her arms, the shoes that hang off her fingers and the way that the messiness of her shorter haircut tells of exactly what she's been doing.

Brittany senses the awkwardness and struggles as she reaches out to grab her underwear and Santana's shirt. She pulls both on under the covers and gets up.

"I need the bathroom," she says as she slips past them both.

Santana waits a few seconds before she moves closer. The second she's in Quinn's personal space, the girl's eyes widen with unshed, worried tears, and she clutches tighter at the things in her arms.

"Quinn," Santana says, resting a hand on her shoulder to soothe her, struggling to hold the sheet around herself. "Where were you? What happened?"

Her hazel eyes widen and Santana can tell from the way that they stare in disbelief that she's not shocked that Brittany and Santana are in bed together. It's something else. A minute later, she swallows and the look is gone, replaced with refusal. She shakes her head adamantly.

"It's nothing."

Santana grabs her wrist and blocks her, not letting her pass. This is the last time she lets Quinn get away. "It doesn't look like nothing," she says. Her voice wavers with anger.

Quinn tenses and she doesn't look in Santana's eyes as she opens her mouth to speak. It closes again, but then it opens a second later, unsure, before she laughs and wrestles free of Santana's grasp.

For a moment, it looks like she's going to escape, but then she drops her clothes and falls down heavily onto the bed

Santana rests her hand on Quinn's shoulder and watches as she shrinks into the touch.

When she opens her mouth, half the words she says don't even make a sound but leave her brokenly.

"I slept with Puckerman," she whispers and Santana can't help it when her hand darts away like she's been stung.


	6. Part 5

Strangely, the first words she manages to produce after Quinn's admission are not fueled with anger, nor are they upset or ashamed. She honestly doesn't know what to think, let alone say and she just shakes her head dumbly until she hears the water shut off from the bathroom.

"I can't do this right now," she says honestly and Quinn looks at her like it's the worst thing she could ever have done, more than hitting her and undoubtedly calling her a whore in one or both of her two languages. Santana just doesn't feel or look anything but confused, and they both know that it's the worst thing for both of them.

They work on argument and debate, on calling each other out when they mess up. It's their responsibility to tell each other when they're being a complete idiot and Santana's not doing that.

She's not doing her job as Quinn's best friend because she _can't,_and they both know that's worse.

/

Brittany looks between them once she exits the bathroom, sensing the tension in the room instantly. She moves to guard them from each other and her eyes grow wide with worry.

Santana shakes her head and takes her by the hand, satisfied when Brittany's shoulders slump in ease. Quinn still has that look on her face, but Brittany barely gets to look at it before Quin is grabbing her sleepwear and heading for the bathroom.

"What's going – " Brittany starts but Santana shakes her head.

"It doesn't matter," she says abruptly, partly in refusal to accept it, partly because she doesn't know how to handle it and mostly because this was meant to be their night and Quinn ruined that.

She leads her to the bed and darts her eyes to the closed bathroom door before she strips Brittany of her clothes and sheds the sheet from her own body.

"Santana," Brittany warns her, grabbing at the sheet as it slips down her body, "What about Quinn?"

Santana rests their foreheads together, pulls Brittany in to her body until there's so seams separating them.

"Your skin against my skin," Santana says and Brittany shivers at the reminder of her own words.

Without another word, Santana pushes them both to the bed and curls their bodies together, shielded beneath the too hot and heavy covers.

/

They fall asleep staring at each other.

Santana's pretty sure that Brittany's only keeping her eyes closed to make sure she doesn't leave.

She suddenly has the urge to tell Brittany that watching her sleep is the only way she's indulged the feelings she has for her since before they'd even kissed.

There's just something about the way that Brittany's heartbeat slows to such a beautifully even and steady pace that makes her own wildly, uneven one feel safe enough to follow. Otherwise it beats so fast that her body simply buzzes with fear.

She wraps her arms around Brittany and pulls her into her chest. Wordlessly, she guides Brittany's ear to her heart and lets her listen to the erratic beat, hoping that she understands. She doesn't expect her to, but Brittany does and she presses a tender kiss to the skin there, before placing her warm palm to the same space.

It's like she's trying to tell it everything's okay, that she's here now and Santana doesn't have to worry or be scared anymore.

Santana listens, and her heart slows instantly.

For the first time, Santana falls asleep before Brittany, completely calm and her heart at ease.

/

She wakes up before Brittany, out of sheer, post-sex habit, and it feels weird not to want to make a mad dash for the door with only her bra and jeans on leaving only a half-written note in her wake.

Their heads are resting on the same pillow and she takes in a deep breath and sighs as her senses are bombarded by Brittany. Her body works on instinct as she moves closer, not stopping until their noses are pressed together. She doesn't think when she pulls back and presses a kiss to the tip of Brittany's, and settles back into the mattress ready to fall back to sleep. Brittany doesn't let her, though, and her nose twitches as she begins to slip back into consciousness.

And Santana watches, eyes half-open and heavy, as awareness slips onto Brittany's features. She expects to see shock as Brittany's brow relaxes, but all she sees is relief when Brittany instantly gives her a sappy grin.

"Hi," Santana croaks as she pulls away.

Brittany just shakes her head slightly and closes the inches between them to press their lips firmly together. "Good morning," she sighs contently. "You're still here."

"Yeah," she agrees, and she can't quite believe it herself as Brittany kisses her again.

It's their first real "morning after" and it's better than she thought it would be. Brittany's lips linger up her jaw, until she giggles into Santana's ear.

"I really love you," Brittany mumbles, but all Santana can feel is the familiar touch that slides down from her waist to her thigh. "Where's Quinn?" she asks as her hand moves to cup the patch of skin where Santana's thigh reaches her backside. "She's not in her bed."

Santana doesn't actually hear the question, she just shakes her head and goes with it as Brittany tugs her legs until they're straddling pale hips.

Just to be on the safe side, Santana tugs the covers over their heads.

/

It's not until the quilt has been discarded thoughtlessly on the floor that Santana manages to think about Quinn.

It's really hard to worry about her when Brittany's buried last knuckle deep inside of her, teasing licks of tongue into her mouth. She forgets about her again, easily.

/

The first time Santana says she loves Brittany that morning, is when she tugs Brittany closer to her, and pants it over and over again into the bridge of her nose. Fingers grip tightly in the blond hair at the back of Brittany's neck and she tumbles over the edge with Brittany whispering "I know, I know" into the hollow of her neck.

/

They're late to breakfast by about half an hour, but are shocked to discover that they're not the last ones to arrive.

Brittany takes one of the empty chairs between Quinn and Artie and Santana follows.

It's a grand total of thirty-seven seconds after they sit down that Mercedes informs them that Tina and Mike broke up after Mike stormed from the hotel and came to find them at the park.

It only takes Brittany less than half that time to wrap a hand around her knee.

She listens to Mercedes, trying to control her expression. It's really hard to listen to how Tina and Mike have been arguing since two am, or how Rachel kicked Finn out into the hall around the same time, with Brittany's fingers teasing high enough up her inner thigh that she shudders.

The whole time, Quinn looks at her like she's an angry ticking time bomb about to explode, while Artie doesn't look at Quinn, or anyone else, at all. Santana doesn't have the mental capacity at that moment to wonder why.

/

"Santana..." Quinn says tentatively when they're lugging their bags back into the car for what feels like the _millionth_time this week. "Are we..."

Santana slams the door closed and laughs mirthlessly, shaking her head. "Still not ready, Fabray," she breathes, walking away.

/

She locks herself in her car while everyone's getting the last of their stuff and attempts to work out her thoughts. They're a mix of satisfaction and disappointment and all overwhelmingly confusing.

She clutches the steering wheel to stop herself from screaming loudly in frustration. She doesn't know what to do.

Guilt feels heavy in her again. She knows that she could have stopped this with a well-timed interception and a subtle warning in Quinn's direction. She _should_ have stopped it and the guilt only grows because she feels herself starting to regret the things that she did with Brittany instead.

And she doesn't want to do that. She can't do that. She can't take that away from Brittany, because that would make her the worst person in the world. But, most of all, she doesn't want to take that from herself.

She just doesn't know what to do, or what she _should_ have done, and, worse, she doesn't know which one she would pick if she had the choice to go back and do it over.

/

They're an hour and a half late leaving, mostly because of Tina and Mike. The entire group splits into different groups than what they've been familiar with all week. All the guys, except Kurt and Blaine and Artie, make their way into Mike's car to, as Puck puts it, "support their bro."

Both groups attempt to convince Santana to hand over her car, but she tells them she wouldn't ever trust any of them with an egg, let alone a vehicle.

It leaves her with Artie and Quinn sitting behind her and Brittany beside her. She doesn't know whether to be happy or concerned when Quinn and Artie don't instantly start talking about what book they're reading today, like they usually do.

Instead, Artie slips into Puck's usual seat at the very back of the car and Quinn skulks into the one in front of him. They don't look at anyone and shove their headphones over their ears to block out the world.

Heads buried in their books, neither of them notice when Brittany takes her hand over the armrest and squeezes it.

/

Santana feels a ridiculous and smug sense of pride when Brittany falls asleep an hour into the journey out of pure bodily exhaustion.

She tries to shake the grin off her face, unable to do so without swerving off the road.

Quinn catches her eye in the rear view and, despite the mix of disappointment and fear she feels towards her, she blushes and smiles at the raised eyebrow her best friend gives her.

"Shut up," she whispers and Quinn chuckles.

/

It's a particularly easy five hour drive to Miami. She spends the entire time thinking about what she could do, daydreaming about how Brittany had hovered over her the night before, and actually peering out the corner of her eye to watch the girl sleep beside her.

The journey is long and they don't stop because they're already far enough behind schedule that they'll have to rush _everything_ they do today.

Santana knows Miami enough that she turns off her GPS as they drive in and takes them directly to the beach, knowing it's probably the first time a lot of them have seen the ocean.

She's right and she watches with reluctant fondness as her friends all kick off their shoes and run straight for the clear blue water.

/

She's watching them all splash water at each other when she calls her parents. Her father answers and warns her that her mother's about ready to murder her. He makes her promise to go visit her grandmother, and she reluctantly tells him that she will. They share stories about their separate adventures, obviously leaving out all the things that neither of them want to know.

Finally, they descend into silence and Santana lets herself listen to the soothing sound of her father's breathing on the other end of the line. It's comforting in the same way that her mother's heartbeat is on the rare times they watch trashy TV together while her dad's in surgery. At those times, she always falls asleep resting on her mother's chest like she used to when she was little.

"Are you okay, Cookie?" her father finally asks.

For a minute, she wishes she was back on her couch in the early hours of the morning, with her father's hand atop her head and her mother's fingers wrapped around her ankle. She wishes she'd said she was happy to spend the summer lounging around their house with Quinn. It'd mean that none of this would be happening and everything would be close to normal.

"I'm fine," she says, but shakes her head at the same time.

/

After a while, Quinn joins her and they slip inside of the car so that the air conditioning can cool their burning skin. They're silent for a moment or two before Santana shakes her head.

"God, at least tell me that you were safe," Santana mumbles, attempting indifference.

Quinn scoffs, offended. "Give me some credit," she says. "I'm not stupid enough to do that twice."

Santana turns to her and, there's a little spark of relief when anger spills over the surface. "Will you listen to yourself?" she snaps. "You slept with _Puckerman_!"

"So? You slept with Brittany!"

Santana holds up a halting hand and shakes her head. "Um. No. You don't get to use that one right now. That was inevitable," she says pointedly. "Let's be honest here, we're lucky I lasted this long. But you slept with _Puckerman_. You had his kid and then you didn't talk to him for an entire year." She laughs. "What the hell are you doing, Quinn?"

"I don't understand what you mean..."

She grunts in frustration and indignation and turns her entire body to the girl next to her. "First off, don't fuck with me. Second of all, I thought you went looking for Abrams last night."

Quinn shrugs with irritating nonchalance. "He wasn't there, so I found someone else."

Santana scoffs. "Story of your life, huh?" she says and instantly regrets the words.

/

Ten minutes later, Santana's got her head in her hand and is taking deep breaths, trying not to throttle Quinn.

"You know I'm here, right?" Santana mumbles softly but gruffly. "You know you can talk to me."

"About what?" Quinn breathes, staring out the window.

"Whatever this shit is that you've got going on." Santana shakes her head. "I'm your best friend, okay?" Quinn looks at her and there's sudden gratefulness in her eyes. Santana nods to reassure her that she's being honest. "I'm here and I always will be, but you need to tell me what's going on otherwise I can't help."

"Nothing's going on," Quinn attempts, but the words waver like she isn't sure.

Santana takes a deep breath. When she manages to look her in the eye, she's pretty sure all she looks is scared. "Quinn..."

"I'm fine."

"Quinn, you were freaking roofied the other night."

Perfect eyebrows knit together and Quinn looks at her like she just suggested she has a third head or something, but, at the same time, it looks like she's not sure if she has herself.

"What?" she croaks out.

"The other night," Santana says, mirroring the movement of her eyebrows in equal insecurity and confusion. "When I found you at the bar... that guy with the shiny suit and even shiner hair..."

Quinn's eyes widen and she opens the door without another word.

"Quinn," Santana calls out to her, tugging on her arm before she can go any further. There are tears in Quinn's eyes when she turns back and she looks frightened enough that Santana almost wraps her into the tightest hug she can manage.

A smile struggles its way onto Quinn's face and she shrugs. "I wasn't roofied," she says and for the second time in twelve hours, Santana snaps away from her best friend.

/

A few minutes later, she walks in on a conversation she's pretty sure she isn't meant to hear.

"I'm just saying that for the amount of money I gave her for this trip, I want to at least have some knowledge of what our accommodation is going to be like," Rachel says as everyone around her buzzes in quiet conversation between one another. "While I have no problems 'roughing it', as many would say, I would very much prefer to know what I'm letting myself in for if we're going to be spending three weeks on a dirt floored hut with no indoor plumbing."

Everyone scoffs at her, but they look like they might have been thinking the same thing too. Santana's mouth opens, but she blushes and feels ashamed that this is what her friends think of her.

"I mean, you saw her neighborhood," Rachel whispers suggestively. "I hate to think what her family is like."

Santana's about to step forward the twenty or so yards it is between her and her so-called friends and say kick Berry's ass when a familiar voice stops her.

"You know Rachel, for someone who spends her life pretending she knows everything, you don't really know much at all," Brittany says and anger coats her voice. "You talk about Santana like you know everything about her. You talk about where she lives, or the fact that she's not terrified of sex, like you are, like they're the two most important things about her."

"Brittany..."

"It upsets me that you talk about her like you do, because you don't know anything about her," Brittany says, getting up and brushing off her legs. She stares down at Rachel, small and miniscule in the sand. "Like, did you know that Santana's parents are both doctors? Totally famous, totally bad ass doctors who cut people open and fix them? Did you know that Santana's always busy on Sunday afternoons because she's always visiting the Kid's ward at Lima General because she's going to be a doctor too?"

When no one says anything, Brittany shakes her head. "No, you didn't. So, don't assume that you know everything, because, really, you know nothing at all."

She storms away and runs straight into Santana. Her eyes widen and she points behind her to where everyone is whispering.

"Did you..."

"Did I what?" Santana pretends, but she links their pinkies together and lets Brittany lead her back to the car.

/

"So, why are we even here?" Mercedes says when they're all eating lunch in a diner along the beachfront. "I thought we were meant to be getting to Key West by tonight."

Santana picks at her fries and sips on her coke. "I have to visit my grandma before we do anything else," she tells them.

"I thought your grandmother was dead," Finn says confused, "I thought she was dead and that's why your parents have her house."

"They don't have her house." Santana rolls her eyes. "She's in an old folks' home. We just have the keys. She still goes back there sometimes."

"So we're living in an old ladies crib?" Puck says with disgust on his face. "I'm going to have to bring ladies back to a one bedroom apartment that smells like cabbage and bleach?"

"Actually, it's a seven bedroom house with a swimming pool and a hot tub," she snaps, pushing her chair away from the table. "But if that's not good enough for you, you can go and find your own damn place to stay for free."

/

She's smoking against the door of her car beneath a palm tree, nursing a headache, when Brittany finds her. She looks around for any sign that someone followed her, before disposing of the cigarette and opening the door. Santana finds herself back flat against the scratchy carpet of her car before she can say anything, a nose brushing her own.

"You're doing that thing again," Brittany mumbles, sucking on her top lip.

"What thing?" she whispers, her hand curling around Brittany's waist and up beneath her shirt.

"That thing where you think too much and start to worry," Brittany buries her face in Santana's neck, kissing there slowly.

Santana groans and lets Brittany work her hands quickly beneath her back, flicking open her bra clasp until she can fit her hands happily beneath the cups. Thumbs brush over her nipples and she groans into Brittany's mouth.

"Quinn slept with Puckerman," she tells her, not knowing why that's the only thing she can think to do when she's got ten digits on two hands, a tongue, a perfectly able pair of lips and Brittany straddling her.

Brittany shakes her head and reaches to close the door behind them. "I don't want to talk about them," she whispers and silences Santana in the best way she knows how.

/

"My Grandmother's expecting me in an hour," Santana mutters, a little while after. Seats have been pushed out of the way, shoes have been lost and her hair's a mess. Santana pushes herself up until she's leaning against the door of the car and sighs.

Brittany pushes her hair out of her face, and pushes herself up until she's sitting on one of the chairs. She's timid as she looks out of the window for a moment, eyes busy as she thinks. Santana watches her carefully, taking in the sight of her, practically glowing with lazy bliss.

"Can I meet her?" Brittany asks, and Santana's shocked by the question, having assumed that she'd leave them all here and pick them up in a couple of hours when she was done, ready to hit the road again. She assumed that none of them cared enough to want to join her.

But there's something about Brittany wanting to be part of this, that feels different to one of her friends keeping her company or being dragged along with her. It should feel unimportant, but it doesn't. Brittany wants to meet _her family._She wants her family to know who she is and it should feel like nothing, but it doesn't.

It feels like a nervous and exciting step towards something great.

/

The others don't argue when she tells them she's leaving them behind. Quinn looks at her like she wants to ask if she can come too, if only for the safety of her sanity, but she doesn't and keeps her head down as she sits beside an equally quiet and reserved Artie.

Santana makes a mental note to ask about that later and follows Brittany to the car.

Nobody knows that Brittany's never met her grandmother before, but they accepted her coming along like they assumed she must have. If they knew the truth, they'd know only Quinn has met her grandmother, one Christmas when she came to Ohio back when her family still went to the same church as Quinn's.

For once, Brittany doesn't take her hand or pinkie over the armrest like she's been prone to the last couple of days. Santana can tell that she wants to, though, because her fingers keep scratching at the faux leather like they're not sure what to do or what's appropriate.

She's nervous, and it's the last thing that reassures Santana that she's not the only one who understands the significance of this moment.

/

No one knows why her grandmother's in an old folks' home. She moved to Miami from Key West two years ago after talking to some guy she used to know about how much better the way of life was. Santana didn't understand it because, in her opinion, the way of life on Key West is better than any, but at the time she didn't argue because it meant that she got to go to Miami and Key West on Vacation.

It occurs to her, as they're climbing out of the car and heading towards the multicolored cluster of buildings, that she's only seen her grandmother once in the past year, and that was at Thanksgiving.

The realization upsets her a little because she's been used to seeing her grandmother regularly her entire life. From weekend visits to spring breaks being cared for by both her grandparents, when her pappy was alive, to Christmas and holidays and birthdays; her grandmother has always been there to spoil her with the love an only grandchild should have.

But this past year, she hasn't. She hasn't heard from her grandmother at all and she hates herself a little for being too preoccupied to care enough to even call her and ask her if she's okay. Usually, her parents bore her with stories about her grandmother doing senior water-sports and art classes, but they haven't.

But the strangest thing is, is that her grandmother hasn't called her either.

/

She's wrapped into a bear hug the minute she's close enough and the pair of them burst into a wrestle of laughing and squeezing the life out of each other. It stops instantly, however, when her grandmother wrests a hand at the top of her back and she snuggles into the comfort she hadn't even realized she'd missed.

"Oh, my little girl," her grandmother says in the same thickly accented voice that somehow always warms Santana from head to toe in comfort, no matter how long she's been away from it. "I've missed you so much. You've grown even more beautiful."

There's the cursory shove away as her grandmother holds her at arm's length and looks her up and down. Her eyes narrow and she glares for a moment in a way that's always made Santana feel unsettled before she grins and drags Santana forward to smother her in kisses.

"Come in, come in," her grandmother says, ushering her into the large open room that acts as her living area, bedroom and kitchen, her bathroom jutting off at the opposite end of the room.

"Wait, wait," Santana says holding her grandmother's hand. "I... I brought a friend."

Her grandmother's eyes grow in a mix of excitement and apprehension. Santana darts back to the door and holds her hand out until Brittany sheepishly takes it, and draws her into the room. She's grown more nervous and Santana can tell because she almost clings to her as Santana comes to a halt in front of her grandmother.

"Abuela," Santana says softly. "This is Brittany."

Her grandmother's confusion grows to a halt and she grins madly, eyes sinking with fondness as she stares at the girl stood behind her granddaughter. She steps closer and holds out a hand so Brittany can shake it.

Santana's the first to admit that her grandma looks kind of scary, and Brittany takes her hand gingerly, like she might lose it in the next few seconds.

"Well, well," her grandmother says as she cradles the hand between both of her own. "We finally meet at last." Both Santana and Brittany's eyes widen for two very different reasons.

"I've heard a lot about you."

/

They talk for a couple of hours, non-stop, about things that really don't matter. Santana talks about glee club and losing nationals. She talks about quitting Cheerios and how much easier her life is without Sue Sylvester leering over her shoulder all the time. Brittany nods along and smiles, listening and agreeing to things that Santana says.

Her grandmother nods along and smiles, looking between them both, feeding them cookies she made especially for their visit and taking no excuses if they try to refuse her offers, shoving them in their faces.

Her grandmother tells them stories about how she goes swimming every morning in the pool just behind where Mary and Stan's places are, how she won $14 in a poker game and got a little tipsy on a couple of glasses of champagne at Barbara's ninetieth birthday.

Santana loves listening to the over the top way her grandmother talks about the people she knows and slips between bitchy and caring, like she doesn't even know she's doing it.

But every so often, it feels like she's holding off from continuing or forgetting what she was going to say, and she furrows her brow and sighs like she hates it and is being forced to do it. Santana moves to sit beside her and rests her head on her shoulder, waiting for her grandmother to wordlessly rest a hand on her knee

She does and Santana curls her fingers around her grandmother's, like she always does, and sighs.

/

She goes to the bathroom and before she re-enters the room, she stops and almost cringes at what she overhears.

"She used to talk about you all the time."

Brittany giggles nervously. "Really?"

"Yes!" her grandma says. "Here, have another cookie, there's another batch in the kitchen. She used to be so excited the first day she was here and then she would progressively get more and more grumpy as the days went on. At first if was all 'Brittany would love this, Brittany would love that, Brittany has one of those in pink and with sparkles' and others she would just talk about how 'I wonder how Brittany is, I wonder what Brittany's doing' and then the week or so before she went home it would be all 'I miss Brittany'. We used to have to take her out three or four times a day for ice cream to cheer her up."

Brittany pauses before she stutters out a, "Really?"

Her grandmother takes a moment and Santana peers through the crack in the door to find her grandmother smiling at Brittany fondly, familiarly. There's nostalgia in her face, soft and content, like she's remembering something she could never, ever forget because it always made her happy.

"Yeah," her grandmother says, and then, in the reflection of the turned off TV, Santana catches Brittany's smile as it grows bashfully across her face, like this is one of those unforgettable moments.

As much as Santana wants to cringe, she can't.

/

"We better get going," Santana says around six o'clock. She can already tell it's going to be a long and tired night. "We still have to drive to the Keys and we're already late enough as it is."

Her grandmother's eyes grow in that scary way Santana used to run from as a child. Full of fire and refusal, she stands up adamantly, even though Santana and Brittany are still sitting down.

"There's no way I'm letting you drive four hours to Key West tonight!" she raises her voice. The decision is already final.

"Abuela..." Santana sighs.

"No," she waves her finger in both their faces. Brittany freezes in terror. Her grandmother is a small woman, but Santana's pretty sure she could bring down a raging bull with a stare like the one she has. "By the time you go pick up your friends it's going to be seven o'clock and then you have to eat dinner and then you have to get other things! How will you visit the supermarket to fill up the pantry if it's the middle of the night?"

"Grandma."

"No," she shakes her head. "No, you'll stay in a hotel tonight. We'll have dinner and you and your friends will stay at a hotel. I'll pay."

She's heading for the phone and grabbing the yellow pages before either Santana or Brittany can argue.

/

The only rooms she can get are a couple of two-bedroom suites and a couple of large rooms in one of the biggest hotels in Miami. Santana refuses to let her pay and her grandmother somehow manages to get Santana to agree to stay in them by bargaining that it'll be okay if Santana takes her out for dinner in exchange.

Something still doesn't feel right when they're still in her grandmother's living room and her grandmother's stuffing hundred dollar bills in her pockets. She makes her promise that she'll buy food for the pantry in Key West and fill up her car with gas so she doesn't break down on the middle of the Seven Mile Bridge. Santana's not actually sure what's going on.

/

Around seven, Brittany says that she'll go call the others, taking the hotel reservation details Santana's grandmother hands her on her old, worn out notepad.

Santana watches her leave, smiling softly as Brittany turns in the doorway to shoot her a smile.

When Santana turns back, she finds her grandmother watching her from where she's been stood by her closet, searching for something to wear to dinner. Instantly, she blushes.

"Does she know?" Her grandmother asks without another word. Santana's stomach sinks.

"Know what?" Santana gulps, nervously, eyes avoiding everything as her grandmother moves towards her.

Her grandmother shakes her head, face blank and sinks into her chair. "Do you love her?" she says instead of answering.

Defenseless and without the comfort of being able to revert to her usual bitchy self, because she's in the presence of one of the few people that have always been proud of her, she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know what to say.

Her throat instantly grows dry, fear creeping and scratching up it as she tries to gulp it away, only for it to rise higher. Her entire body feels thick, painful, like she's been strapped in invisible restraints by her own brain.

Her grandmother's face is blank, expressionless apart from concerned curiosity that lingers in her eyes. "Just tell the truth, Cookie," her grandmother mumbles. "That's all you need to do."

Santana looks at her pleadingly, terrified. Brown eyes as dark as her own brighten and she nods encouragingly.

Santana nods, before she can stop herself. Eyes releasing the first of her tears. She nods and nods and nods; all she can do is nod as utter and unequivocal shame overcomes her.

The first sob breaks free and it wracks up her body and rattles through her rib cage. "Oh, please don't hate me," she hiccups. "Please, please don't be ashamed of me," she begs.

A few moments later, the couch dips beside her and one hand angles her face until it's looking into one that's more familiar than she can understand, even though she hasn't seen it in so long and has changed. A hand takes Santana's and rests it on her knee.

"Oh, Cookie," her grandmother shakes her head. "How could I? That's wonderful."

/

Brittany returns a few moments later, and the smile in her eyes quickly replaces itself with worry and concern. She darts towards Santana and settles before her, hands on both of her knees.

"What's wrong?" she says as steady as she can, even though her voice wavers. "What happened? What's wrong?"

When Santana's grandmother grabs Brittany's hand and joins it with hers and Santana's, she stops and notices for the first time that the woman is still in the room.

"Nothing's wrong," she whispers shaking her head reassuringly at Brittany. She kisses the back of both their hands. "Absolutely nothing is wrong, at all."

Santana burst into renewed sobs and hates the confused look that covers Brittany's face.

/

Her grandmother doesn't make any demands, doesn't ask any questions. She holds their hands as Santana cries and smiles at both of them with unrivaled hope.

/

They go to dinner and it's like nothing happened, except for Santana's heart feeling lighter.

She's never felt more respect for her grandmother, a woman raised in Cuba in a time when something like this was enough to shun a person from a family, from a home, from the life they knew. It's like nothing's different, like everything's the same, and Santana laughs and jokes with Brittany and her grandmother as her grandmother makes inappropriate comments about other diners with little remorse when they turn around and glare.

/

"Here," her grandmother says, just before they bring their entrees, and hands her a wooden cigar box.

Santana stares at it wide-eyed. "I don't smoke..." she lies.

Her grandmother clicks her tongue. "I wouldn't care if you did," she says. "Open it."

Santana does and frowns at what she finds. There's an old camera that looks like it needs film instead of being digital, some pieces of paper, a few bundles of keys, some more cash, an address book and a few pictures of Santana when she was a little kid.

"What's this for?" Santana says.

Her grandmother giggles. "The camera is for you to take pictures, just in case," she winks suggestively and Santana's eyes grow wide at the multitude of insinuations she feels being made. "There's some cash. Your father might have given you enough, but I doubt it's enough to have a good time. This key is for the garage. This one is for the front gate, this is for the front door – Oh. This one is for the safe. The one in the back of my closet. Most of it is the legal stuff for when I'm dead – "

"Grandma!"

"What? It's got to happen one day," she scoffs and ignores her as Brittany chuckles at them. "But there's... well, you'll see. Just don't tell your mom and dad, okay?"

Santana looks at her grandmother and starts to worry if, maybe, she's going a little senile. "Okay," she says and pushes the box to the side as the waiter brings their food.

"Don't look at me like that," her grandmother says as she digs into her food. "You'll understand when you see it. It's better than anything you could get in Ohio."

With interest piqued and a warm buzz of the wine her grandmother snuck them into their empty water glasses, Santana just shakes her head amused.

/

Her grandmother gets up the second after their waiter leaves with their dessert order. Thinking that she just needs the bathroom for the millionth time, Santana looks up at her confused when her grandmother grabs her jacket and bag.

"Where are you going?" she asks, confused and sad, all at once.

Her grandmother laughs and scratches her fingers at Santana's head. "Home," she says. "I have a nine o'clock curfew or I have to spend all night partying because I can't get in through the gates. I'll see you soon."

Santana stands up. "But we just ordered dessert and I have to take you home."

"I ordered a taxi to pick me up here before we left," she tells her. "Stay here, eat your dessert. Then go have some fun with your friends. You have a fake ID? Go to the casino, go to the bar, go to the club. Just do something and enjoy yourself."

Santana wraps herself around her grandmother without anther word, new found respect and love radiating through her bones and just making her want to cling on and never let go. Her grandmother laughs and squeezes her just as tightly.

If possible, the hug grows even tighter when her grandmother ducks her head down to Santana's ear and sighs.

"Don't waste it," she whispers. "Please, just, don't waste what you could have..." she says, and Santana's stomach drops again. The regret in her grandmother's voice makes her want to realize things her heart can't quite bear to understand yet.

She reluctantly pulls away, but she's left with a pulsating sense of fear, that leaves her world feeling like it's a little more off-kilter than usual.

/

Her grandmother leaves them alone in the dark, candle lit restaurant, and it's only when she catches Brittany smirking sheepishly back at her, that she realizes the predicament she finds herself in.

She shakes her head, chuckling in disbelief that she'd never realized. "That sneaky old bag," she whispers, but there's no irritation, no anger.

Brittany shrugs and fold her hands in her lap. "I think she's kind of cool," she mumbles nervously. "She doesn't smell like vegetables like my grandma, and I think she loves you just as much as I do."

Santana's head tilts to the side. Brittany shrugs.

"The real you," she verifies and Santana takes a deep breath.

/

After ten minutes of silence and (not so) awkward staring, Santana finally cracks and looks away with a laugh.

"This feels like a date."

Brittany smiles unsure, but she looks hopeful as she speaks. "Is that such a bad thing?"

Santana thinks about it, looking around the restaurant and finding not a soul staring. She looks back and shakes her head. "No. No it isn't."

Brittany grins and reaches across the table, wriggling her fingers to tempt Santana. Within seconds, Santana's tangling their fingers together over the table, letting her chest fill with the happiness the simple action brings.

/

They hold hands and share their desserts with each other. Santana pushes the bigger mouthfuls of cheesecake toward Brittany and Brittany spoons ice cream into her mouth.

When some of it drips down her chin and Brittany purposely moves her chair around the table to sit close enough to Santana that she can wipe it away with her thumb, Santana gives in to the need to kiss her.

She presses her lips quickly to Brittany's before looking around to see if anyone's looking.

When they aren't, she does it again.

/

They make out in the car, in the restaurant parking lot, and Santana's not really sure how it happens, but it doesn't go any further than kissing slowly and quietly over the armrest.

/

"We better get back," Brittany mumbles against her lips. "We were meant to meet the others at the hotel club at ten-thirty."

Santana nods and untangles herself. "How is it that those grumpy bitches are ruining my vacation when they're not even here?"

/

They meet the others in the club and they're all already drunk.

Santana goes to the bar and gets them both a drink before they approach them, all mingled together in the corner of the club, laughing loudly and actually looking like they all like each other for the first time since they left Lima.

When she does finally go over to them, Brittany stands behind her as the rest of the group come up to her to tell her how awesome her grandma is.

It does take everything in her not to punch something when Puck steps up to her and asks her what he can do for her grandma in return. It's not that it's gross and he's disrespecting her grandmother, but because Santana's decided she blames Puck for making this whatever-it-is, _thing_ Quinn has going on a million times worse.

It works both ways.

/

Quinn's drunk and, for once, happy, when Santana finally finds her, dancing around Artie's wheelchair as he watches her with heavy, tired eyes. Quinn wraps an arm around Santana's shoulder when they get close enough, and she clings like a small child would cling to it's mother. Santana wonders how torturous her day has been and doesn't instantly shrug the arm away.

"You okay?" she mutters softly into her ear, so that no one can hear, glad when Quinn smiles lazily and nods.

"I spent the day with Artie," she says softly to her and Brittany standing beside her. Santana smiles, glad that at least she had someone to make sure she was okay for the day. Any worries that something bad had happened between the pair instantly disappear. "How 'bout you?" Quinn asks.

For once, Quinn actually looks like she cares and Santana doesn't know where to start, or how she feels, so she shrugs and wraps an arm around Quinn.

"Come on," Santana says. "I need a drink." She looks at her friend and musses up her hair. "You, however, look like you've had enough."

Quinn shoves her and rolls her eyes, almost falling over, but it's done with silent and thankful understanding.

/

Buying herself a shot and a beer is a bad idea, especially when they run into the boys at the bar. Soon, she's helping carry a couple dozen shots back to their table, with the full understanding that she and Brittany will be drinking most of them in order to catch up.

Twenty minutes later, Santana slams her shot glass down and grimaces at the tequila in her throat. She grabs for her beer and gulps it quickly. So what if she's got some damn Mexico in her somehow? She still fucking hates tequila.

"Ugh. I'm meant to be driving tomorrow," she slurs, voice hoarse from screaming and the burn of the drink.

The reminder only receives an amused and teasing whoop from the rest of her friends as they shove another shot into her hand.

Brittany leans against her, tugging at the edge of her tank top, and Santana grins as she knocks the shot down her throat with a grin.

/

They leave the club at four am, the doorman laughing at them all as he points them toward the elevator. Santana sobered up enough to feel her face and understand her limbs a while ago, needing to be responsible. She supports Brittany on one shoulder and Quinn on the other, her arms around both of them.

"Here," Quinn says as they others disappear, in their two separate groups once again, into their two fancy hotel suites. Quinn reaches into her pocket and hands Santana a key card. "This room is yours. I thought it would be best. Me and Artie are down the hall if you need us."

Santana and Brittany turn to look at her at the same time with bleary, questioning eyes.

Quinn shakes her head and untangles herself from them. "Twin beds," she informs them, rolling her eyes. "Come knock on our door when you want to go to breakfast."

She winks, but it just looks like she's squinting. Santana waves her off and watches as she wanders down to the room at the very end of the hall where Artie is waiting for her, holding open the door, and smiling.

/

She doesn't know why she expected there to still be two beds in their room. They've been staying in rooms with two beds all week and it's become the norm to wake up and see either Quinn, Brittany or Artie laying across from her. Puck is always on the floor.

Coming face to face with a much smaller room and one, lone, extra-large bed, makes her both relieved and nervous.

Brittany, suddenly looking a lot more sober and aware, stares at her in concern.

"We can just sleep," she says quickly, staring at Santana stood still by the door. "You need to get some rest and... we can just go to sleep."

When Santana doesn't do anything, doesn't speak or move, Brittany steps to stand in front of her. She takes Santana's hand and breathes out a troubled sigh. "Shall we..." She stops and shrugs. "Do you want to talk about this? We can sleep or we can talk or we can..." She trails off.

The words snap something in Santana and she moves to look from Brittany to the bed, to the key card in her hand. They have no bags with them, no burdens and she feels free to act as she wants to for the first time all week, without worry.

Santana shakes her head. She stinks of booze and sweat and, less than twelve hours ago, she was sobbing on her grandmother's couch. For tonight, she just wants to be free.

"Britt, we're in a hotel and it's almost five in the morning," she starts, shaking her head. "We're the only ones with a key to this room. There's no Puck, no Artie, no Quinn. I'm pretty sure we're even free from the human alarm clock that is Rachel Berry because she's so drunk that Hudson had to carry her out the club." She laughs softly and shrugs her shoulders. "I don't even think I could sleep. The last thing I want to do is talk..."

She watches as Brittany gulps visibly, but her eyes grow dark and narrow with what can only be described as hunger.

"Then what do you want?" Brittany asks honestly.

Santana steps towards her and presses a hand to the small space of skin that shows between her tank top and her shorts. She pushes her hand up the soft fabric and over Brittany's hard but soft abdomen.

"I want to make love."

/

It's probably the booze that makes her a lot more forward and a lot less nervous. She knows what to expect now and absorbs each emotion she once used to refuse, warmly and gladly. There's still a long way to go, and she's pretty sure it will be a while before she can truly let herself go enough to explore and appreciate every part of Brittany's body, but she's getting there.

Her hands clutch and push at Brittany's clothes as she gets shoved, quite easily, back against the precisely made bed. There's more smiling this time, and Brittany pulls away every few moments, just to grin at her.

The sun comes up through the still open curtains and casts translucent golden light around the room. Brittany's brow furrows when, in a moment of uncontrollable boldness, Santana kisses her way over the shadows of sunlit skin, tongue trailing down over her stomach. She feels low stomach muscles tighten in anticipation as she nips against the skin, but she's still not ready for that, and she kisses her way back up as her hand grips at Brittany's knee, sliding inward and upward until it finds intoxicating heat.

Brittany groans against her and pulls her up until their tongues tangle with each other. She grinds against Brittany's thigh, finding friction through her soaking wet underwear and pumps steadily inside of Brittany, thumb moving lazily over her clit. Brittany pants against her cheek and she nuzzles into her lips, nuzzles into the way Brittany's jaw opens as she moans and sucks at all the skin she can find.

She loves this and she doesn't understand how she ever denied it. She doesn't understand how anyone could not fall madly in love with Brittany when thick blond curls fall into deep blue eyes and her neck arches off the pillow. Her back bows off the mattress and perfect breasts graze against Santana's skin wantonly, spreading goosebumps. She leans down to wrap her mouth around one perfect nipple, just on pure, unadulterated need to feel it pucker in her mouth.

When Brittany pulls her face back to hers, her moans grow more high-pitched, more desperate and her eyes beg desperately for release. Santana smiles and reaches down to kiss every inch of skin she can see. Brittany's body undulates beneath her, moving between frantic and exhausted as Santana slows her movements to draw out every little bit of this.

Brittany thrashes a little and Santana smirks proudly against the curve of Brittany's breast as she bites it. She thinks she's won this imaginary game, but then Brittany's hands and fingers are there, pushing away her underwear until they're wrapped around the tops of her thighs. She buries two fingers straight inside of her like she was born to do it and mirrors Santana's movements with her own painfully slow thrusts.

Even though she's on the precipice of pleasure, Brittany grins in the same triumph. Santana groans and bites her lip. It doesn't take long for her to increase her speed, suddenly understanding how this works.

Brittany manages to hold on a while longer, but when she comes, Santana's eyes widen at the way her face relaxes and the way she whimpers gutterally in thanks. She falls apart promptly after, gasping wantonly into the hollow of Brittany's throat.

No one makes an effort to move for many long and silent minutes, too content to care.

/

Somehow, they make their way to the floor by the balcony doors and form themselves a bed of pillows and quilts from around the room. Santana lays back and pulls Brittany against her, wrapping them in a sheet to protect themselves from the chill.

"I want to stay with you like this forever," Brittany mumbles with sleepy honesty, pressing exhausted kisses to Santana's collarbone. "Sometimes I wish it could be just us and everything would be okay."

Santana nods and watches as the sun rises over their view of the clear blue ocean.

"Me too," she whispers, and for a moment, it seems possible.

When she falls asleep, Santana's looking into two very different deep, crystal blue oceans.


	7. Part 6

It's a bit disorientating to wake up and be able to hear the ocean licking over golden sand. For a moment, she thinks she's still dreaming and doesn't dare to move in case she scares the dream away.

Because it's not just hearing the ocean, or the breeze she feels whispering in through the balcony doors, that makes it impossible for her to believe that this is real. It's the indescribable warmth she feels pressed up against her body, the way that there's skin pressed into every curve and contour of her body, that make her refuse to believe that she isn't dreaming. There's no way that this can happen two days in a row.

But when she feels fingers tracing backwards and forwards over her collarbones, and air tickling against the column of her neck, she starts to believe that maybe dreams can come true sometimes.

Her eyes flicker and her nose scrunches as another stroke of wind shifts the air around her. A familiar laugh traces against her neck and she opens her eyes just as the heaviness against her neck pulls away to look at her.

"Hi," Santana whispers, voice groggy with sleep. Any apprehension or fear she might have is non-existent when she lets her hand reach to cup Brittany's cheek, just to make sure she's really there.

"Hey."

Brittany smiles and that's more real than anything she's ever seen.

/

They lay there and it's impossible for Santana to not think about how she wants every morning to be like this, with Brittany curled around her, setting her world straight and off-kilter at the same time.

It's even more impossible for her to not think about when it's all going to be taken away; it seems the more likely of the two thoughts that duel one another in her head.

Her fingers reach to tangle in the hair at the back of Brittany's head, stroking through it and letting her fingers linger at the top of Brittany's spine. She listens to Brittany breathe, listens to how gentle she sounds, how gentle she _feels_ against her skin and lets her brain remember every sensation.

Just in case.

/

Eventually, Brittany takes the leap. She leans up on her elbow and looks down at Santana carefully. Her lips are still a little swollen but pale from sleep. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders and Santana breathes out unevenly at how beautiful she looks.

Brittany smiles when she notices it and leans in, teasing her with a nudge of the nose, seconds before Santana tilts her chin to capture her lips.

"Good morning." Santana whispers the greeting, not feeling weird that they've already been awake over for half an hour.

Brittany smirks against her lips, one hand cupping her cheek. "Yeah," she says in agreement.

/

There's a weird sense of deja vu when she starts making paths up Brittany's neck, lips trailing softly and slowly like they have a couple of days instead of a couple of hours before they have to leave this room.

It feels different than how it used to be, and she supposes that it should, considering everything. Brittany's touch is different, their bodies feel different. She doesn't try to keep her distance, and presses as close to Brittany as she can.

She doesn't let her hands remain passive at her sides, occasionally resting on Brittany's boobs. She strokes them down Brittany's arms, up her neck, reaches down to brush the curve of Brittany's hip and bring her thighs tighter around her waist. The other curls in Brittany's hair and she pulls away every so often, just to look at Brittany, smiling at her softly with heavy-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks.

But it's not just Brittany's actions that are different. She seems more relaxed, a lot more calm and she doesn't say anything, just hums in approval as Santana finishes the trail of kisses up to her jaw with a playful nip at her lip.

And when Brittany finally does speak, it's not to beg Santana to sing a song or to do something that will let the world know who they really are; it's just the truth. Her eyelashes brush against her cheekbones and she pulls Santana in to kiss her.

"I love you," she sighs and Santana doesn't freak out, she doesn't fix her ponytail and she doesn't get up and leave. She smiles properly with unbridled happiness and kisses Brittany quickly, holding her cheeks as hands slide up her back to her shoulder blades, adamant on bringing her back in and not letting her go.

Fighting the kiss for a moment longer, Santana laughs when Brittany pouts and locks her ankles at the small of her back, whimpering with the need for contact. Santana nuzzles her cheek, heart soaring at the pleased sigh Brittany lets out.

"I love you, too," she whispers just as content and leans in without another word.

/

They move back to the bed after Santana's back begins to spasm uncontrollably. Brittany laughs a little and Santana can't help but laugh along with her when she has to help drag her up from the floor, pressing her back against the mattress while she winces in pain.

(Pain has never been more worth it.)

(She finds that's true a lot when she's with Brittany.)

She lays on her back a little uncomfortably, eyes a little spaced as she tries to position her body in a way that doesn't make her instantly flinch into another. Brittany lays on her front beside her, watching her carefully. It isn't until Santana turns her head and finds she's still only an inch or two away from Brittany's mouth that something goes unspoken between them. It's something that neither of them know the name of, but it's enough to make them both take an uneven, unsure breath at the same time.

Brittany looks at her curiously and Santana's decision to stroke the hair back from Brittany's face almost isn't a decision at all, but an instinctive reflex she can no longer control.

"We can talk now," Santana says. "If you want."

Brittany smiles and looks away awkwardly. She picks at a loose thread on the sheet and takes another breath that unsettles Santana.

"I don't think that we really need to..." Brittany says eventually and that sends Santana's panic and worry off into the stratosphere. She gulps and tries to remain calm in her features but inside she's yelling at herself to do something before Brittany puts an end to all of this.

"I think we've talked enough for right now, don't you?" Brittany shrugs casually. "You're still not ready, I know that. You wanted us to not do this, but we can't. So... why don't we just go with it?"

Santana floods with relief. "What about the others?"

Brittany laughs. "I don't think they need to know. Like their drama's going to help."

Santana rolls her eyes. "But what about when we get to the Keys?" she says, groaning a little in disappointment. The thought of moving greatly annoys her; she just wants to stay here. "There's no locks on the doors and we can't pretend that those moaning noises were the lady down the hall if we need to."

Brittany laughs, burying her face in Santana's shoulder and pressing a kiss there before she lifts it up again.

"So we cool things off a bit," Brittany shrugs. "It'll be better for you and we can still be us and you can figure things out. We'll have our own separate beds and that'll probably help, if I'm not using you as a blanket." They both grin. "It'll be okay."

Santana nods. "It'll be okay," she agrees and Brittany wraps her arms around her.

/

She doesn't mean to let it happen. Words about cooling off and figuring things out disappear from her vocabulary too quickly and before she knows it, she's astride Brittany's waist, hands cupping her breasts, hands guiding hands downward as she pants into Brittany's mouth.

"I thought..." she groans as Brittany's fingers reach the top of her pelvis. Fingers still as she starts speaking and Brittany kisses at her neck, like the most useless and inappropriate prompt to continue, ever. All she wants to do is melt into Brittany, but they both know she needs these words. "I thought you said... cooling off..."

Brittany shakes her head and fingers skate down. She strokes haphazardly for a few seconds before changing her mind completely. Santana whimpers at the loss of fingers where she suddenly needs them most.

"Britt... I didn't..." she squeaks, ready to beg if she needs to.

Brittany laughs low and gruff in her ear as she forces her back to the bed, hand still hovering between her legs. "I'm not going anywhere," she breathes into her ear and, as she slowly works her way down Santana's body, Santana really wants to believe that she doesn't just mean right now.

/

Brittany's not anything if not a fast learner. Her tongue moves with precision, her mouth and teeth with deadly accuracy. Her fingers stroke steadily with skill that Santana barely noticed improve and, when Santana practically screams down the hotel room from the sudden intensity of her orgasm, even Brittany looks up to stare in amazement at her own capabilities.

Santana blushes but it's not from embarrassment, more from the sudden rush of blood that goes back to her head.

"If anyone complains about the noise," she pants as Brittany returns up her body. "We'll just... we'll just tell them the person they're looking for is Rachel Berry."

/

"Seriously, though," Santana says as Brittany kisses her slowly. "I thought we were cooling off?"

Brittany gasps for breath and laughs. "We're not in the Keys yet," she groans against her. "We have an hour left before we have to get ready, so..."

"Oh," Santana clicks together, moaning softly. "And we should make the..."

"Yeah..." Brittany nods and takes Santana's hand, shuddering as she pushes it between her own thighs. Santana moans at the wetness that instantly coats her fingers and slowly rolls Brittany onto her back.

"I see your point," she whispers, pushing her fingers inside of Brittany without a second thought.

Brittany groans in response as her back arches.

/

They're about to start a quick round four (or maybe five, or six if last night counts too) when Santana's phone starts buzzing across the nightstand. Santana's ready to ignore it – mostly because Brittany's hovering over her with one hand on her boob – but Brittany sits up where she's straddling her and passes the phone.

"It's Quinn," she whispers, even though she hasn't accepted the call yet. Santana groans a little and presses the green button, holding the phone to her ear as she sits up to kiss Brittany's throat.

"This better be good," she says nips at the skin behind Brittany's ear, feeling her shudder.

Quinn scoffs, but it sounds like she can barely manage to put any venom or effort into it.

"Artie's offered to buy us breakfast."

/

Their quick round four (or five, or six, whatever) isn't that quick at all and the maid bangs at their door just as Brittany's jumping from the shower and Santana's drying her hair.

/

The diner is on a corner, facing the ocean and it takes Santana everything not to reach out and hold Brittany's hand. Brittany notices the move and bumps their hips together, hooking her pinky around her own as they walk across the parking lot. It feels different, somehow. More secure.

When they get inside, Quinn and Artie look like they've already had about ten cups of coffee as they talk animatedly over the table. The usual array of literature sits between them, as usual, Santana doesn't recognize any of the titles.

"Oh, you're here!" Quinn says beckoning them over, and Santana narrows her eyes instantly at how happy she sounds. "I'm starving."

Santana darts her eyes to Brittany to see if she's seeing this, and gets a shrug in return. Santana sits beside Quinn and Brittany beside Artie. Santana's not sure if that's worse of better than sitting beside her because, straight away, all she can picture when she sits opposite her is how her body curled and arched into her own barely forty minutes ago as she cried out her name. She crosses her legs, hoping that it'll help.

When Brittany's thighs brush hers and a tingle of electricity runs up her spine and then straight between her thighs, she knows it's going to be a long, long day and an even longer trip.

/

They eat brunch and listen to Quinn and Artie talk quickly about the day before. Santana really couldn't give a crap what happened to those imbeciles, but it's fun to watch Brittany's face rise and fall as she finds out about Finn and Rachel arguing again, or that Kurt and Blaine spent the day bedazzling sand castles together with Rachel to cheer her up.

It's even more fun to watch as Quinn blushes and Artie's lips turn into a half-smile when Brittany asks how _they_ spent the day.

Artie goes into a play-by-play description of how they spent the afternoon strolling up and down the beach before getting lost and finding a tiny bookstore hidden away somewhere.

Santana kind of tunes out and notices Quinn staring fondly at Artie with an unfamiliar sparkle in her eye. She lets their eyes catch when Quinn notices her looking, and raises her eyebrow with a teasing smile.

Quinn blushes and shakes her head so her hair falls into her eyes.

"Shut up," she mouths before the other two notice and Santana laughs.

/

"So?" she asks softly once Artie's paying for brunch and Brittany's shoving quarters into an old jukebox.

Quinn looks at her over her coffee cup and narrows her eyes. "What?"

Santana chuckles, low and gruff. "You know what," she says and Quinn flushes instantly, letting out a scoff.

"No."

"Are you sure?" Santana teases.

Quinn gives her a look that says "stop it" but Santana shakes her head adamantly. "No," Quinn says again, softer this time. "No. Not right now."

/

The others are all sick with hangovers and Santana can't find the capacity to care when they're stupid enough to get that drunk when they know they can't handle it.

She's also pretty pissed about being charged extra to have one of the couches in their hotel suits professionally cleaned because someone hurled blue shit up onto it.

They can all choke for what she cares.

/

When Brittany sneaks up behind her and presses the entire length of her body against her before pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek, Santana giggles and looks around to see if anyone can see them.

They can't, of course; they're obscured by a wall and everyone else is getting something to eat. But she demotes Brittany to the back of the car anyway, intoxicated and heady with the need for release, just looking at her.

/

They spend the entire journey out of Miami catching each other's eyes in the rear view mirror and smiling at each other.

Quinn and Artie don't notice them, swept up into their own world as they talk to each other on the second row. They're watching some movie and don't seem to remember that anyone else is there, so Santana and Brittany ignore them and get caught up in each other.

It isn't until Santana catches something other than Brittany's smile in the mirror that she even remembers that Quinn and Artie are still in the car. Her brow furrows and she looks carefully at her friends. Brittany looks too, just as curious, and they catch it at the same time. Quinn slips her fingers into Artie's and smirks at what he says before darting her eyes to his lips.

It's so obvious, even though Quinn looks like she thinks no one's noticed, and Santana chokes away her gasp as she re-catches Brittany's eyes in the mirror. Both of their eyes widen and Brittany giggles and it's so familiar that nothing else seems to matter.

/

When they finally hit the Seven Mile Bridge, Santana's nearly shocked at the sudden and confusing relief she feels. For the first time the entire trip, it actually feels like they've gotten somewhere.

The fact that all she can see is the road ahead, the never-ending ocean and the small islands of land either side of her leaves her a little breathless.

It feels like she's reached the end of the world, and she starts to believe that maybe, if she tries hard enough, she'll find some answers.

If not, she figures that, at least she might be able to find some clues, some ideas to what the hell she should do.

That and a lack of fear is all she wants.

/

They finally arrive in Key West mid-afternoon and, after seven days, it's strange how it's no big deal. There's no fuss and she turns off her GPS and cruises through the streets like they're better than any others she knows.

She's glad to be back and the relief that she feels is unfathomable.

/

There's a legend that says that the old lady who lives on the corner has had the same salsa record playing for the past sixty years, ever since the only man she ever loved her left her.

Santana giggles at the sudden rush of _home_that hits her as she rounds the corner and hears it; it's been the soundtrack to her summer since before she can remember.

The need to dance itches at her feet. It gets even worse when she catches Brittany watching her warmly in the mirror.

/

It's incredibly satisfying to watch her friends faces drop as she pulls up into the driveway and jumps out. They still pause a minute in their cars (like this isn't where they're staying and she's just hear to pick up some keys), before they jump out and stare up at the house that sits in front of them.

She's silent in her smugness.

Brittany's the only one out of the group that doesn't seem so impressed. She jumps out of the car, tugging on the back of Santana's shorts fondly before heading to the trunk and popping it open.

Santana watches her, getting caught up in the memory of the end of summer sleepovers where they would share a sleeping bag and Santana would show her pictures of her grandma's house. She remembers telling her about all the things that she saw, as she made promises that Brittany would get to see it one day too, and smiles when she realizes that Brittany's finally here.

Back then, even at eight and ten and thirteen, it felt like Brittany was the only thing that was missing from this place. The swing set in the yard didn't quite swing right and one of the beds always seemed too empty. The pool seemed too large and there was always a space spare at the table for every meal.

And now Brittany's here and the entire place seems _right_for the first time ever. The fact that everyone else is here doesn't matter. All that matters is that Brittany is and that, of all the promises she's made to Brittany, she actually managed to keep this one.

/

There's a pile of suitcases and bags in the middle of the kitchen fifteen minutes later. Santana leans against the center island, phone in hand, typing out a lazy text to her father to tell him they got there okay.

Everyone else runs around the house, skipping and jumping with annoying amounts of excitement as they discover all it's hidden secrets and everything it has to offer. Santana doesn't need to; she remembers it better than her own home. It's one of the few places she actually feels safe in.

That's the thing. That's why she's hiding out in the kitchen while they all explore. They've all seen her house in Lima – few of them have been inside of it, but they know where it is and what it looks like – but having them here makes her feel vulnerable in ways she can't handle.

This place isn't like her house in Lima. She's the only grandchild and the walls of this place display that proudly. Back home, her house is void of photographs that aren't family portraits taken for Christmas cards, or of her dressed in her Cheerios uniform.

But her grandma still has a picture of her covered in spaghetti from when she was two that sits on the mantle in the den, and another of her smothered in ice cream when she was five on top of her dresser. She hasn't checked yet, but there's usually a photo album of her development as a human being (sonogram picture to her last Cheerios photo) sitting on the coffee table, for Christ's sake.

She's not a just a cheerleader or a bitch or a slut here, she's Santana: the only grandchild and the pride and joy of the family. People _like_her here and the idea of her friends discovering that about her that scares her. Her grandma always says that Key West is where you come to be yourself and she knows that it's going to make it harder to keep that from them.

So she hides out in the kitchen and prays to God that nothing ruins her plan.

/

"It's not fair!" Sam shouts. Santana rolls her eyes because he always manages to look like a toddler throwing all his toys out of the pram when he's angry. It makes it really hard to take him seriously.

Finn steps up next to him, fists balled at his sides. Santana gets the urge to protect every chair in the house just in case he kicks one. "Why do you three get your own rooms while the rest of us get stuck in the damn pool house! That's not how this team works!"

Quinn scoffs. "Yeah. This team works in the way that wherever we go, everything always has to be about you and Rachel," she says spitefully. "Well guess what, as we keep reminding you, this_isn't_a damn trip for this glee club. This isn't something you can take over like you do everything else. This is Santana's grandma's house and it's Santana's rules and she sat there and decided this arrangement because that's how she wants people to stay here. These are _not_your choices to make."

Santana stands up then, just so that Quinn doesn't kick Finn in the nuts or something. Santana knows she would if it was her.

Puck scoffs. "But Britt wasn't even on the trip until the minute we left. Why does _she_ get one of the big beds? I just want somewhere I can take the ladies."

"You can have my bed if you want it," Brittany says.

"No, he can't!" Santana says quickly and then her face drops at the inquisitive glares everyone gives her. "Look," she says ignoring the two smirks she gets from Brittany and Quinn. "It's all worked out. You've got it good. The pool house has the only bathroom with wheelchair access for Artie. It has four twin beds and that's why you're staying there. It has a TV that's hooked up to ESPN, porn and the sci-fi channel. Plus, I'm pretty sure there's an xbox in there."

Their hard glares soften with the possibilities and Santana goes on.

"Rachel and Mercedes are sharing because Berry snores like there's a toddler stuck up her nose and Wheezy sleeps with earplugs in, so it works better that way," she carries on. "So there."

"Yeah," Finn says moving closer to her. Santana rolls her eyes. "But I still don't think it's fair that Rachel and I can't share just because you say so. And what if we, or Sam and Mercedes, want to... have time alone?" Everyone looks across the room where Rachel and Mercedes sit side by side looking nervous. "What happens then? Have we got to hang a sock on the door?"

A dull surge of protectiveness overcomes Santana as she looks at Rachel and Mercedes. And sure, she isn't too fond of anyone in this room apart from Brittany, right now, but she knows genuine fear when she sees it. Their eyes are wide and bright as they remain silent and, even from here, Santana knows that they're more than happy with the arrangements Santana's made for them.

She crosses her arms. "This isn't going to be one of those vacations where everyone gets drunk, has sex and does a tonne of stupid stuff," she says squaring up to him. "I don't want that on my conscience or the thought in my brain. This is how things are going and that's it. Final."

Finn opens his mouth to say something but she raises her eyes in her own perfectly intimidating way and he closes it instantly. The entire room falls silent and Mercedes and Rachel look ready to black out with relief.

Puck groans and rolls his eyes as he gets up from his chair.

"Whatever," he says. "Where's the freaking hot tub?"

/

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he hollers looking down at the ground. Santana screws up her face at him, brow curled into a disgusted confusion. "LET'S ROAST A WHOLE HOG!"

Santana folds her arms and says what they're all thinking. "Puckerman, you're Jewish."

"So?" Puck indicates at the shallow concrete well dug into the floor, covered in the leftover remnants of coal and burnt firewood left behind from last year. "We have a damn fire pit! I don't want to eat the pig, I just want to set it on _fire_!"

Quinn scoffs at him as she moves to stand beside Santana with Artie. "Puckerman, you're an idiot," she says softly, her hand lingering a little high on Artie's shoulder and brushing his neck a little too familiarly.

Santana darts her eyes to Brittany again to see if she caught it. The pleased little half-smirk that adorns her face and excited shuffle of her feet tells Santana that she did.

She's about to agree with Quinn and say something smart-ass in her direction, but then something grumbles in her stomach at the thought of cooked to perfection meet and changes her mind.

"I could totally go for a burger, though," she admits with a shrug. Everyone around her murmurs in agreement, everyone except Quinn.

Her face shrinks into a look of deep contemplation, pondering all the possibilities of Santana's suggestion. Her hand falls to her stomach and she rolls her eyes as she grabs the handles of Artie's chair and turns him around.

"Yeah," she says, annoyed. "Me too."

/

The group decides to barbeque but the pantry only gives them two year old crackers and a jar of something that kinda looks like tomatoes.

Finn looks ready to cry at the fact the cupboards are bare and Santana groans with the realization that she has to feed these clowns.

"I'm going to the grocery store," she says. The idea of just an hour or two of alone time makes her heart leap with joy.

It's an idea that's quickly stopped by a dozen people all shouting at her wanting to come too.

/

She slams the door in their faces and tells them she's not taking them anywhere; she's going alone.

They all quickly barrage her with requests.

Finn wants stuff to make grilled cheese. Sam wants new "reading material". So does Puck (and Santana can only imagine the differences in those requests). Kurt needs new beauty products, as does Mercedes. Blaine would like a new journal and batteries for his camera. Tina and Mike need "supplies" ("supplies" that Santana quickly informs them there is a stash of in her glove compartment). Rachel needs "Barbra. There's no Barbra in this house and someone has stolen my iPod" (Santana doesn't mention that someone is her).

The only people that don't actually want to come with her to purchase something are Brittany, Quinn and Artie. They kinda just look like they want some alone time too.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Just... make me a list," she says and heads upstairs to unpack.

/

Brittany walks in half an hour later, leaning against the door jam. Santana looks up ready to yell and softens when she sees who it is.

"I have some of your clothes," Brittany says throwing them onto the seat at the end of the bed.

(She kinda feels weird sleeping her in grandparents' room, but she'd rather she had it than anyone else. Brittany – of course – is in the room she usually has because she's the only person Santana knows won't judge how girly it is.)

Brittany nudges her shoulder when she doesn't say anything. "Are you really going alone?" she asks. Santana gulps at how close she is. It would be so damn easy just to close that door, let them all argue, and spend the next five minutes kissing her. Her eyes wander easily to Brittany's lips, her throat.

"I don't know," she says huskily, suddenly unable to remember all her words. "I mean, I'm definitely not taking _them_."

Brittany leans forward subconsciously. Their noses bump before they can do anything and Santana breathes in the air between their mouths. It's the sweetest and purest that's ever filled her lungs.

"What about me?" Brittany whispers, but there's a look in her eyes that says she doesn't even really realize that she's talking. She's too swept up in stroking her nose over Santana's cheekbones, behind her ear.

Santana reaches over to grip the bottom of Brittany's shorts and opens her mouth to find an excuse, but the decision's already made for her.

She doesn't know whether to be mad or relieved when she hears feet thundering up the staircase and they both automatically spring apart.

/

There's a grocery store a ten minute drive away but, without even realizing it, she's heading back out of Key West and driving to the one forty minutes away.

Brittany sits in the seat beside her with the two-column, four-paged (front and back) list the others presented to them as they wordlessly got into the car.

Brittany reads it out to her, but apart from that, they don't speak.

/

The action is automatic and it's not until Brittany's pinky is linked around hers that she realizes she even outstretched her own.

She blushes a little, but it feels strange just to do that. This isn't new or unfamiliar. She's been linking her pinky before stepping inside any store with Brittany since that time in the forth grade when Brittany had wandered off and got lost in freezer aisle. Having to spend six hours warming Brittany back up, and the panic she felt at the idea of not finding her, is something she'll never forget.

Brittany doesn't even show any recognition of it, it's that familiar, and tugs Santana towards the shopping carts.

/

It's not until thirty minutes later that Santana realizes that this trip to the grocery store is different.

Somehow, they stopped holding pinkies when Santana started pushing the cart and, usually, Brittany would grip at the back of her shirt so that they don't lose each other. But she hasn't; instead, one hand covers Santana's while the other holds the list. Her entire body relaxes into Santana's and whenever Santana lets go, she tangles their fingers together and rests her chin on Santana's shoulder to look at what she's looking at.

Brittany's grip is loose and tight at once, and they stand side-by-side in the meat section, trying to figure out what to buy together. They work together perfectly, passing things between each other and snatching the list back and forth as they tease and giggle at each other. Brittany sneaks kisses to her cheek when no one is looking and Santana plays with Brittany's fingers. She feels like she's a kite and Brittany's her string, stopping her from flying into the wind.

Away from familiar eyes and too far away from anywhere that matters to care, her body eases and she relaxes because it's impossible to not bask in this.

Because this is it, she realizes and scares herself a little. This is how she wants to spend the rest of her life: debating and arguing about whether to get a jumbo pack or what's on special, with a smile on her face.

She wants a life of perfect mediocrity with Brittany, so she presses a kiss to Brittany's bare shoulder when she's looking over the list again and hopes that she understands everything she can't say out loud.

/

They almost get thrown out of the store when Santana starts yelling about "stupid bitches stealing all her money", alerting the security guards. When they find out that no one's stolen anything and Santana doesn't stop screeching, they politely ask her to finish her transaction with the cashier and leave.

It takes another twenty minutes, a loss of almost six hundred and fifty dollars and three shopping carts wheeled out by three very nervous grocery store assistants before they're back at the car.

Santana's still mumbling about how everyone's out to make her poor or drive her crazy and not even say thanks, so Brittany leans her against the car and leaves her to wallow in her bitterness while she loads the car.

It isn't until Santana starts kicking her tires and cursing in Spanish that Brittany returns to her. She presses her body against Santana's to stop her from doing any damage and Santana stops, eyes growing heavy at the sudden warmth that overcomes her.

Brittany presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth and smiles.

Santana instantly calms like someone's just flushed her body with warm, sweet cocoa. Her body feels heavy and she sighs, suddenly feeling giddy.

"Hey," she says lazily as Brittany's fingers draw lazy patterns on her hip.

Brittany smirks and nudges their noses together once. "Hi," she giggles.

/

She's pretty sure that she's parked illegally, but she doesn't care when Brittany's stroking her fingertips against the bare base of her back.

"I'm gonna miss doing this all the time," Brittany whispers tugging Santana's lip between her own. They're in a lay-by somewhere and they probably have minutes before they should move, but she just needs this. They both need this, just for a minute.

Her neck arches against the head rest and she groans as Brittany darts down to kiss a path against her throat. It feels like her head is on properly for the first time since they left the hotel room.

"Stop talking," she whispers, pulling their lips roughly together.

Brittany complies.

/

When she walks into the house, for a second, she thinks that a bombs exploded inside of it. The suitcases that once sat in kitchen are now dispersed throughout the house and, throughout the rooms, items from inside of them litter the furniture and floor like debris.

Santana practically lunges upon the first person she sees when she walks through the door. She stops abruptly when she sees that it's Quinn.

"What the _hell_ happened?" she asks trying to keep control. Brittany presses one hand to her side and the other wraps around her left wrist.

"Puckerman." Quinn says. "Just... _Puckerman_." She grits her teeth and shakes her head. "They're all in the pool."

/

Santana sets the temperature to freezing and they all jump out within five minutes.

Nine soaking wet, shivering bodies wander disgruntled into the kitchen and Santana smirks as they all glare at her.

"If this house isn't devoid of all your crap in the next twenty minutes and isn't put inside the rooms I so wonderful as to bequest you with, I will not pause to forget to feed you all," she says as sweetly as she can. "Just try me."

And with a million grocery bags surrounding their feet and rumbling stomachs, they can't say no.

/

She's marinating steak, Quinn's standing opposite her on the other side of the center island making salad, Brittany's finding the right tunes to put on the house-wide speaker system and it's all so grown up that she finds herself smiling a little.

Twenty minutes turned into an hour, then two, and Santana gave up waiting for them to be ready, so she started preparing dinner herself. It's almost dark, but the lights that illuminate the deck outside mean that's not a problem. Santana feels herself slowly starting to warm up to Artie Abrams because she just spent ten minutes joking with him as they hauled a bag of barbeque coal and firewood from the garage.

She guesses it's easier to get on when they're both not arguing over the same girl. Not to say that Santana isn't weary of his intentions with her other best friend. That's why she stops swaying her hips to Madonna and looks over at Quinn.

"So," she says softly, watching Brittany in her periphery repeating old cheers from last year. "You and Abrams, huh?"

Quinn laughs and doesn't say anything, except it kinda says enough without the words. Santana puts down her sharp knife and leans over the counter a little. She narrows her eyes.

"Did you sleep with him?" she asks. Quinn just laughs again and Santana's actually shocked because she was fully expecting protectiveness and full bitch mode. "Did you?" she says, scandalized and a little grossed out.

"I wouldn't tell you," Quinn says with a pointed smirk.

Santana smirks a little and shrugs her shoulders. "Was he any good?" she asks curiously, fully aware she could have known the answer a long, _long_time ago.

"I wouldn't tell you that either," Quinn says with a scoff. She puts down the knife in her hand and looks at Santana. "I don't understand why enjoying the company of a person who actually has more than two brain cells instantly means I'm having sex with him." She shakes her head annoyed and goes back to chopping celery. "If you're so concerned about Artie's sexual prowess, why don't you just ask Britt? She knows the answer to that question and could probably give you a lot more proof of the answer than I could."

"That's true," Brittany says and opens her mouth to continue. Santana holds a hand up to stop her, shaking her head warningly.

"Do not go any further with what you're about to say, Brittany Pierce," she says through the bile rising in her throat. "I changed my mind; I don't care."

Santana doesn't look at the triumphant looks on both of their faces and pretends she doesn't see it when Brittany looks at Quinn and gives her a thumbs up and a wink. She wants to vomit enough already.

/

The upside to coming from a large extended family means that there's an unending supply of tables and chairs in the house. Santana finds three tables and a dozen mismatched chairs from around the house and drags them outside underneath the awning. It looks like it might rain a little later.

Artie sits by the pit, making Santana and Quinn roll their eyes at how manly he suddenly begins to act. They set the table and bring out food for him to cook, as Brittany checks on the others to make sure they're done.

/

Things settle down after that. Everyone comes down from their rooms and apologizes to her, Rachel beaming at them proudly like a mother hen. It says enough and Santana scoffs and pushes her out the way as she walks back into the kitchen to get hot dog buns.

The yard is filled with that smokey barbeque scent and a comfortable warmth. Her body feels heavy with the relief that they've finally arrived, like she can actually start to relax now that she has no where else to go, and she fails to tell them that there's beer in her trunk with the fear of ruining the evening with that one bad decision.

It kinda feels nice to sit around and eat without having to get up for hours if she doesn't want to and laugh with her friends as loud as she can without fear of people looking at them. She sits as far away from Rachel as possible and sandwiches herself between Brittany and Quinn in the seats she knows are the most comfortable.

Mike and Sam offer to do the dishes without being asked and Puck doesn't get bored once he's cooked all the meat, so he sits by the side of the last burning embers of the fire and makes s'mores for them all.

Santana lets her head fall against the back of her chair and sighs softly. Maybe this vacation might be a success after all.

/

It gets to about eleven thirty and Puck pulls out a deck of cards and starts dealing them to everyone. They all lean into each other as they take their cards, but it's obvious that, even though most of them are exhausted after coming such a long way, that none of them want this first night to end.

"I can't believe we're finally here," Tina voices at last. Grumbles of agreement echo around the group and Tina smile softly at Santana. "This place is amazing. I can't believe you've never told us about it. Did your grandparents always live here when you were growing up?"

Santana rearranges her cards and speaks as she leans over to fix Brittany's too. "Yeah," she says uninterestedly. "My grandparents met in Miami and moved here after they got married."

Puck finishes dealing out the cards and turns to her. "So why isn't your grandma still living here? This place is awesome."

Santana shrugs. "My grandpa died about three years ago and she didn't see the point of being alone. She rents it out to vacationers for more money than she knows what to do with but keeps July and August clear for the family to visit, but my parents don't really have time anymore so we haven't been here in a while."

"That's sad," Tina says softly.

"But it totally makes all the random modern accessories make sense now," Kurt says. "The TVs in this house are huge."

Puck hums in agreement. "I'll drink to that," he says and raises his root beer. Santana just rolls her eyes.

/

"LA," Tina nods looking at Mike who grins in agreement. "LA or... I don't know, San Francisco. Somewhere cool. Somewhere warm and bright."

"I think that Memphis would be pretty sweet," Puck says. "There's hot chicks in Memphis."

Artie hums in agreement.

"I'm moving to New York," Rachel says and everyone rolls their eyes. Everyone except Finn who suddenly looks annoyed at the reminder. Kurt and Blaine look absolutely delighted by it and clutch hands excitedly.

Mercedes nudges her playfully. "Tell us something we don't know. This game doesn't work if you're telling us something you've told us practically everyday for the past two years."

Rachel blushes and shrinks into her seat. "So, where do you want to go, then?" she asks.

Mercedes shrugs. "Wherever happiness takes me I guess. I'd be okay staying in Ohio all my life if I was happy." They all groan at the answer and she laughs at them embarrassed before rolling her eyes. "Okay, okay, okay," she says. "If you're going to make me pick. I don't know. I always envisioned being somewhere like Nashville or wherever. Somewhere that really appreciates music and appreciates faith and family and... I don't know."

Santana doesn't miss the uncomfortable sideways glance that Mercedes awkwardly gives Sam.

"What about you, Trouty Mouth?" she asks him softly, reshuffling the cards and getting ready to deal.

Sam ignores the name and, instead, barely thinks before answering. "Pandora," he says nodding adamantly. "If I could live anywhere I'd live on Pandora."

"The Avatar planet?"

He narrows his eyes. "It's a moon, actually," he corrects her icily.

"I think that'd be cool," Brittany shrugs. "Living somewhere like that."

"Except it's not real, Britt," Artie mutters softly and she shrugs, like that doesn't really matter to her. "I always wanted to be a cowboy when I grew up... so I think I'd have to live in Texas or something."

Quinn looks at him softly. "I think it'd suit you," she teases and his nose scrunches as he smiles at her.

"What about you Quinn?" he asks softly.

The question seems to stump Quinn for a moment, like she never considered that the possibility of living anywhere but Lima was possible for her. Her face drops a little at the invitation to dream for a moment and Santana almost reaches out to her because she looks overwhelmed at the sudden rush of ideas.

Her head shakes a little and she takes a deep breath. "Paris," she shrugs. "Paris. Or... Madrid... London. Rome? I don't know."

They lapse into silence and Santana looks around at the faces of her friends. The worry on their faces at Quinn's expression makes her feel that they've been let in on a secret that only a few of them knew. Her eyes catch Puck's, who looks like he's pretending not to notice anything, and Artie's, who looks just as terrified as she internally feels. Brittany notices, too and she stares between them before struggling a smile.

"I think I want to live in Florida," she says softly. "They have dolphins here and I guess I could dance here too, right?"

Santana forgets about Quinn and about everything else for a moment. Her heart stops and she's filled with quiet disappointment. She gulps but her throat is dry. Brittany's smiling at her so widely, waiting for an answer, so she nods. "Yeah, Britt," she says. "You can dance here."

There's that guilt again too. She stops shuffling the pack of cards and instead stares at the way the wood is fixed together to make the table.

"What about you, Santana?" Brittany says softly. Santana looks up and finds that no words will come out. She tries to moisten her throat with a gulp again but fails. She reaches for her water and takes a sip.

She shakes her head softly. "Wherever life takes me, I guess," she shrugs awkwardly and no one looks at her any differently. Even after everything, they still glance at her like nothing she says matters, because they're all sure she doesn't care anyway.

/

The guilt still bubbles inside of her half hour later. They're all still sharing secrets. Rachel wants to be a star, Mercedes just wants to sing and no one is really interested that Blaine wouldn't mind working for a newspaper "or something". She blanks out what most of them are saying, grateful that no one seems to notice her shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

All except Rachel, who leans forward close to her. "So, Santana," she says sweetly, cutting through something Finn was saying about working with Mr. Hummel. "You want to be a doctor?"

Santana looks up and braces herself. Self-consciousness and self-preservation surge to the surface and she suddenly wishes her water was vodka instead. "Problem, Berry?" she says in response, not really answering at all.

Rachel shakes her head. "No," she stutters. "I was just going to say that I think it's great that you have fantasy like that. Healthy, even."

Santana washes her drink around her mouth, staring at the bottom of the glass longingly. "Fantasy?" she repeats softly, looking at no one. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rachel jolts back a little, shocked by the question and stutters some more. "I-I mean... You're obviously placed in the lower academic level classes at school, because I've not seen you in any of my classes and I'm in the upper intermediate classes, so..." she gulps nervously. "Obviously, becoming a doctor is something that's an unrealistic target for you considering your level of academic ability. I didn't even see your name on the sign-up sheet for the SAT prep course at the end of school..." she ponders.

Santana nods trying to contain herself. "My 'academic ability'," she repeats, voice wavering with anger. She doesn't look to Quinn on her left or Brittany on her right and remains shaking her head at Rachel's words, not sure if she wants to cry or kill her.

Instead, thinking of Brittany and how disappointed she looks whenever Santana lets anger consume her, she slams down her glass and gets to her feet.

"Excuse me," she whispers softly and makes her way toward the sliding glass door back into the house. Her hand is braced ready at the handle when a voice calls after her.

"Are you kidding me?" Quinn says and Santana narrows her eyes to turn slightly. "You're just going to let her talk about you like that, considering what you found out last week?"

Santana's eyes grow wide and she turns back frantically, mouth opening to stop Quinn but it's too late. "She's in AP _everything..._that's why you won't see her in your classes," Quinn says, voice matter-of-fact and spiteful in Rachel's general direction. "Biology, History, English... all of them," she continues. "She's not taking SAT prep because she already took this SATs and got a better score than any of us could pray for."

There's part of Santana that wants to punch her, wants to hurt her for telling them this and doing _this_here. But there's another part that loves her more than she ever thought she could, that, instead of throwing her under a bus, Quinn's sticking up for her. Even so, there's still a much larger, more pained part of her that clouds over everything and makes it impossible for her to look at Brittany.

"Tell them," Quinn says and Santana's shaking her head before she even thinks. Quinn scoffs and shrugs. "Tell them," she demands. "Or I will. You can't let them talk to you like this."

She can, she thinks. She can and she was totally planning on letting them walk all over her spirit for another year before she proved to them all that she was better than all of them put together. Her heart hammers against her chest and she shakes her head.

"It doesn't matter," she says adamantly.

Quinn scoffs again. "How can you say that?" she whispers and Santana shrugs, ready to burst into tears but refusing to.

All her thoughts are stalled instantly when Brittany speaks up. Santana's eyes dart to her for not even a second before she's forced to look away. Brittany looks so lost and confused and it's all because of her.

"Quinn?" she whispers. "What are you talking about? What's going on?"

Quinn shrugs her shoulders that are already heavy with the weight of her own bigger burdens. It's the only thing that doesn't make her stop Quinn from opening her mouth.

"Santana's got a full ride to college," she tells them to gasps of shock. Nothing deters her from going on, not even the way Brittany's face falls tragically. "Pre-med. She leaves for California next August."

/

"I don't see the problem," Quinn says softly. Santana rounds on her.

"It wasn't your business to tell, Fabray," she says, shields going on full and bitchiness turned up to it's maximum setting. "Just because you want to fuck your own life up, doesn't mean you have to fuck up mine along with it."

Quinn laughs and shakes her head, ignoring it. She always has known what's better for everyone else and not herself.

"This isn't about you, this is about Brittany," she states, making Santana's stomach plummet. She rounds on her and moves in close to whisper.

"She didn't even know, Quinn," she chokes. "She didn't even know that I wanted to leave or that I wanted to go to school... She thought it was a pipe dream too, probably. She thought I'd probably stay in Lima and do something else like they all do." She kicks the bed post and groans, covering her face with her hands. "She didn't even know, Fabray and everything was shitty enough already."

Quinn stares her down, watching her move frantically around the room. "What's this about, S?" she shrugs.

"I didn't want her to know until it was sure," Santana excuses with a lie. "I didn't want her to know until everything was a hundred percent for sure."

Quinn shrugs and signs. "Santana, it _is_ sure. You'd be stupid to pass this up and Brittany would say the same. So what's this about?"

Santana turns to her slowly, eyes welled with uncontrollable tears.

"She's going to think I'm giving up on her, that I'm running away..." she whispers. "But I'm... I just want..."

"What?" Quinn prompts, but Santana can't say it. It doesn't matter, because Quinn figures it out anyway. "You want her to come with you..." Quinn breathes. "That's it. You want her to come with you, but you're scared she'll say no."

"No!" Santana says quickly.

"Then what?"

Santana slumps against her bedroom door and sobs. "I don't know."

/

She can't sleep. Quinn's words and everyone's expressions (mostly Brittany's lost and broken one) play over and over again in her mind until there's nothing else she can think about. She thinks of all the different possibilities and can't seem to find one that works in her favor.

She feels so guilty, so deceptive for talking all this talk with Brittany and not mentioning that she'll be leaving in a year, that they only have _one year_ before she disappears for almost a decade to become something she isn't even sure if she wants to be anymore.

She lays in bed and thinks about earlier that day, about jumbo packs of steak and Brittany slipping random things they didn't even need into the cart. She remembers how she couldn't stop thinking about how, if they ever lived together, she and Brittany would probably drink more chocolate milk than normal milk, or how she'll have to start getting more of the cinnamon raisin bagels she eats for breakfast because Brittany likes them too. She remembers how Brittany had kissed her cheek and giggled in her ear for no reason other than that they were together.

She thinks harder than she's ever thought in her life and isn't sure which life she wants more with the heartbreaking knowledge she can't have both.

/

About three am she shuffles back into the kitchen and is shocked to find Brittany sitting at the small breakfast table, drinking a glass of milk in the silent darkness. She shrinks back a little, turning on a low light and going to the fridge to get herself a glass of milk too.

"I couldn't sleep," she says when she finally turns back to Brittany and finds her there, stood a foot away from her. Her entire world stops when she sees old tears dried to Brittany's cheeks. She forgets the glass and her face softens with sadness. "Britt, I'm so – "

She's cut off by the firm press of Brittany's lips on hers. Her eyes flutter closed, stunned by the sensation as Brittany kisses her desperately, gasps against her a little and wraps her fingers in her hair like it's the last time she might be able to. Santana doesn't want to think that she's given up hope, but it definitely feels like it.

When Brittany pulls away, she rests their foreheads together. Her fingers skip over all the lines of Santana's face like she doesn't want to forget them, and imprints them further to memory. Her eyes are wet and glassy again and Santana opens her mouth to console her, but doesn't know what to say.

But then Brittany smiles and it's so broken and so wide with pride that Santana doesn't know what to do.

"I'm so _proud_ of you," Brittany whispers and, before she leaves her alone in the kitchen, Santana thinks it's the worst and best thing she could have ever said.

Still, she sinks to the floor and leans against the wood doors of the kitchen cupboards, and cries because, once again, she doesn't have a clue what she's meant to do.


	8. Interlude 1

She finds it at the airport before they leave for New York.

They're in one of those stores that has everything no one really needs and nothing that they do. She'd tagged along with Santana and Brittany to get away from the others but, while Brittany debates the candy bars and Santana flicks through magazines without reading them, she wanders off just to be alone for a while.

And it's not like she's actively been looking for one, but there's a huge cardboard box filled with books of all shapes and sizes hidden at the back corner of the store and she's drawn to it for no reason that she can figure out. She kneels down and starts rummaging through it, reading the covers of random ones, purely out of boredom, and listens to Brittany trying to decide what candy she wants out loud.

One sticks out to her, though, the author familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. She sneaks it to the counter before either of the other two can notice (not that they would anyway) and hands over her money without a word as she slips it into her bag.

She doesn't read it, though. Not yet.

/

She doesn't care that they haven't won. If she's honest, she really didn't expect them to after the year she's had. Winning felt like too much to ask, so much so that she'd already resigned herself to coming home disappointed before they'd even left.

Santana, however, obviously hadn't. Quinn sits beside her, listening to her try to calm herself down in angry Spanish. Her fists are balled up against her knees and Quinn shakes her head at her.

"It's just a show choir competition," she reminds her gently. "We've still got next year."

"How can you say that?" Santana beats her fists against her knees.

Quinn blinks. "Because it's true."

Santana scoffs at her and looks like she can't believe Quinn just said that. "It's so _not_ just a show choir competition. Winning meant so much more than that."

/

Later, she sees Santana's finger twitching to reach out and hold Brittany's, but she has that hopeless, struggled look on her face.

Quinn watches for a second before she realizes that, if they'd won, Santana would have been winning a lot more than a stupid show choir competition.

/

It happens almost subconsciously.

One minute, she's not really friends with her friends anymore and the next she is. She sits beside Santana and Brittany at the last Glee meeting and Santana gives her a ride home without giving her a scowl too, and that's it.

The day after school ends, they go to the mall but Brittany mentions that she's going on vacation soon and Santana starts to distance herself from her. Quinn clings, however, desperate for that unending affection Brittany seems to have for everyone. They talk like nothing's different and Santana walks along beside them.

/

But they don't really talk like they used to back when they were the popular girls who everyone wanted to be. Quinn figures that there's no point in gossiping when they have nothing to gossip about. They don't know anything.

She drops by Santana's one day to ask if she has their reading list for English next year and somehow gets stuck watching an entire season of Cheers without even getting up to go to the bathroom.

And that's all they really need, the two of them, company without talking about it, so Quinn invites her to sit by their pool the next day now that the days are hotter and longer. They never actually get in the water and just lay beside each other on the loungers while remaining silent.

Santana has her iPod and one of her mom's old copies of Harper's Bazaar as she lays on her back and it's only then that Quinn remembers that she brought a book. She gets up and retrieves it from inside without Santana so much as looking up.

She starts reading and it's nice to escape for a while.

/

She finishes the book within four hours and finds that these words aren't enough.

Her need for more is almost like a thirst and she goes through all the books in her house and finds that there's nothing there that can quench it.

/

After a couple of days, they realize that Judy isn't going to leave them alone. For about the hundredth time, she sits on the end of Quinn's lounger and spends too long asking them about boys and parties and gossip, not realizing that they know none of it. They can't even tell her about their friends (because the only thing they're doing is leaving them behind), and Quinn can see Santana get more and more agitated by the questions the more frequent they come.

They leave Quinn's house ten minutes after she arrives on the forth day and head for Santana's house. It's much nicer to be inside with the air conditioning on and only the sounds of Friends season one in the background.

/

All their friends leave and soon it's just them, alone in Santana's living room watching her TV box sets.

Most days, Santana sleeps until the latter part of the day and Quinn finds that she can't sleep much at all, so she walks around Lima, just to get out of the house. At first, she doesn't know where to go and just wanders aimlessly from seven in the morning until Santana texts her. But a few days later, she walks past the public library and goes in.

She ignores Santana's text that day and spends the entire day inside, looking at books and researching authors to see if there's anything that can make her feel as free and informed as the other book did. She's already read it three times, not able to get enough of the story and of Esther Greenwood. It's nice to know that she's not the only one who feels lost and confused, so she reads it again and again to see if she's missed anything.

/

She goes to the library again the next day and tells Santana that she has a family thing. She spends the entire day at a table in the back of the building reading books and avoiding her mother. She can't be in that house anymore, and sometimes being with Santana feels just as suffocating. No one's talking about the one thing that maybe they should be and Quinn can't handle that, so she gets away to where no one can talk at all.

She reads books and soaks in what they tell her.

She searches each page for secrets, for clues, for answers, unsure of what she's trying to find them for in the first place.

It doesn't seem to matter because there's this voice, that whispers in her head every time she tries to stop herself, that somehow sounds louder than everything else, telling her she needs to.

/

Santana calls her in the middle of the night and she groans at her down the phone. Not because she was asleep but because she was reading.

She doesn't care so much that she lost her page, when Santana asks her if she wants to go to Florida for a month, however.

She's reading _On The Road_ and it feels like a sign. She spends an hour the next day convincing Santana to make it a road trip, sure that she's not meant to just read these books, but somehow live by them.

A smile spreads truly on her face for the first time in weeks when Santana agrees.

/

Most of her library reading has changed from fiction to discovering more things about where they'll be going. She makes a list of all the places she wants to go and starts reading Hemingway once she realizes that she could possibly visit his house in Key West.

She's a quarter way through _The First Forty-nine Stories_ when she hears someone clearing their throat. At first she thinks it's the old librarian and she jumps, stuffing her sandwich back in its brown paper bag.

"I'm sorry – I'm sorry," she says through a mouthful. "I was hungry and it's raining and... oh, hi."

She looks up and finds Artie looking at her with a wide beam on his face. He laughs a little and leans forward to look at what she's reading.

"Hemmingway, huh?" he smiles. "And a book on Key West... Are you planning a trip?"

/

It's an accident that he finds out but she knows that Santana would kill her anyway. Artie laughs and tells her it's their secret.

/

She's relieved when Puck finds out later that day, but she's mostly nervous and angry about spending a month alone with him and Santana.

/

The next day, she runs into Artie at the library again. They talk about books they've both read, ones that they both haven't, and she feels at ease, for the first time in a long time, talking to another human being. Artie doesn't ask questions she doesn't want to answer and she likes answering the ones he does. He helps her decide all the places she should go on the trip and laughs when he finds out about Puck, mostly out of sympathy.

When she finds out that he asked to come on the trip too and told Santana that he found out from Puck, Quinn is equal parts confused and impressed.

/

She still finds time to sit around with Santana all day watching TV shows. Not because she wants to, but because she feels like Santana needs her to be there.

She knows that Santana's parents aren't around much, how much she misses them and how lonely she is. She knows it isn't helped by the way that Brittany is on vacation in the middle of nowhere. Or by the fact that they haven't talked since Brittany left, which she only knows because Brittany called her and asked ridiculous questions for fifteen minutes before finally asking how Santana was.

It kinda feels like she's looking after both of them for both of them and it makes her feel like she's got the tiniest purpose.

/

They both get angrier and angrier, the more that the group grows.

Puck coming was annoying enough already, Artie kind of a blessing for when Santana starts yelling at Puck. But then she accidentally ran into Kurt while shopping for new luggage and he found out, then he tagged along bringing Blaine with him and everything's ruined before it even starts.

Rachel and Finn turn up on the doorstep and Santana tries her hardest to say no without saying no, but they still end up on the roster of who's coming. Quinn's more disappointed than angry. She wants to punch something and, as she writes their names, is desperate for that something to be Rachel's face

She knows it's only so long before Sam and Mercedes tag along, finding a way not to miss anything, so she calls Brittany and tells her what's happening, hoping for the best that a little sunshine will beam down on the mess that this plan has become.

/

She kinda regrets that decision when Santana lays there on her couch, curled into herself, and tells her that she's in love with Brittany. The relief that it lifts off her shoulders when Santana says it is impossible not to miss. Her entire body relaxes and she falls asleep seconds later.

It doesn't really explain much, but those few words explain enough. Quinn's left to fill in the gaps just from what she's seen over the past few months. Distance because of boys, because of each other, because of unspoken words. Hurt, pain, happiness, confusion, reluctance and refusal. She can think of and notice all of them in the past actions of her friends and it fills her with worry.

Maybe this trip was going to be as cathartic and refreshing for Santana as it was for Quinn.

She gets the urge to call Brittany and, when she does, finds that her phone is switched off. She sinks into the cushions and tries to sleep.

She can't and lays watching the television with her eyes closed, knowing all the things she's watching from memory.

/

When she sees Santana's smile almost break her face the next morning, and the same slumping relief oozing from her body, Quinn doesn't regret her decision to call Brittany.

Not for a minute.

/

"Why didn't you tell me?"

In a second, a million things rush through her head. What feels like a million different reasons for why she would call Brittany bounce back and forth through her skull but she can't find one that feels honest.

There's things she wants to say to Santana about how she thinks that they're being stupid, that they need each other, that the trip wouldn't feel complete without Brittany there but she knew that Santana wouldn't have kept calm if she'd have known. There are things she wants to say about how this is Santana's chance to tell Brittany all the things she never said and to get back to some steady ground. She wants to tell her how she needs Brittany's bright light just as much as Santana does because Brittany always has a magical way of making her feel happier without even trying.

They're all perfectly valid reasons, but none of them are honest enough.

So she gets up from her chair and leaves the table, pushing all the things she's avoiding to the back of her head.

/

They're not even in Florida yet and she's sick of them already.

It's not even that they're behind schedule or that she didn't get to see some of the Nashville landmarks she, at least, hoped to drive past. It's that they're always there, always making things bigger than they are, making a spectacle and making everything about them.

This is _not_ their trip. It's not really even _her_ trip. It's Santana's, and she's just somehow managed to cause the entirety of the New Directions to tag along and ruin it, so she feels a little guilty. She feels bad that she started the domino effect that allowed them to ruin this trip because they'll never have it back.

That's why she follows Puck out on the balcony, equally surprised and glad when Artie decides to follow. All she wants to do is forget or be proved otherwise, and Puck's always been good at helping her do that.

It's kind of comfortable, at first. They talk about music and she sips three glasses of Jack Daniels because she isn't as fond of liquor as her parents. But then Puck starts to look at her with those glassy, dark eyes as he moves a little closer, and she can't stand it. She knocks back her fourth and feels it go straight to her head. She grimaces at the burn and asks him to go get her some ice, just so that he doesn't look at her in that muffled and incoherent way for another second. He looks confused about why she wants ice now, but then he does what she says and leaves.

Artie gives her a smile, but she can't stand that either, so takes the bottle and swallows a quarter of what's left, just because.

When Puck comes back he's more friendly than before.

/

In the morning, she wakes up to Santana holding her hand and an uneasiness in her stomach. She isn't sure which one makes the need to vomit claw up her throat, but she snatches her hand away and crawls from the bed to the bathroom before throwing up.

The burn feels good, and she doesn't know why, but it scares her.

She brushes her teeth before she steps back into the room and changes into clean clothes before she climbs back into bed.

Santana's hand still remains outstretched waiting for her and she stares at it for a while before taking it slowly, glad that Santana doesn't stir, just grips it slightly.  
>For a moment, she feels better.<p>

/

It feels like she's walking on an unsteady edge, not sure if the ground is going to crumble away from her feet at any second. She walks along the Memphis streets trying to keep herself balanced, glad when Santana and Brittany walk up beside her. At least there will be someone to catch her.

When Santana links her pinky with Brittany's, she kind of feels unsteady for a moment. But then Santana loops their arms together and it starts to feel like she finally has something holding her upright.

/

For the first time in almost a year, Puck wants to know her. She sits in the restaurant, with him on one side and Artie on the other, and it's unsettling to say the least.

She's pretty sure the last time that they had a conversation with each other, that wasn't laden with sarcasm, was when she was breaking his heart and telling him she couldn't be near him anymore. A few weeks later, he'd called her up, drunk out of his mind, and told her that she'd ruined his life. He hadn't remembered, obviously, but apologized a few days later anyway, saying that, if he'd said anything stupid, he didn't mean it. She didn't tell him what he'd said but, just from the nervous way he'd shifted from foot to foot at her front door while her mom was out doing groceries, she knew that he'd meant it anyway.

But here he is again, smiling at her and leaning close to her as the three of them discuss everything and nothing. Artie talks books and Puck tries to keep up, but it doesn't work so well.  
>She doesn't know what to think or what he wants.<p>

When he rests a hand on her knee under the table, she thinks she might have an idea.

But then he disappears with one of the waitresses for an hour and a half and the thought quickly vanishes from her brain.

Instead, she dances with Artie and it's different. She doesn't feel awkward or guilty like she does with other boys, she doesn't feel like she's forcing anything, or that he wants something more, or something else. He holds her close and it doesn't feel like she's suffocating. He smiles and it reaches his eyes so easily that she can't help but bashfully return it.

It's effortless and a welcome change to not have to try so hard. So she sighs, and lets him take the lead.

/

She knows they think she's asleep, but she stays up with her eyes closed and listens to them. She caught sight of them all night and saw how badly they struggled to be with each other without being with each other. They both look tired and she wonders how long they have to go before it stops working and starts breaking.

"I'm sorry," Santana says and it sounds so genuine and so terrified, that Quinn has to fight to keep her eyes closed.

It doesn't work and she lets her eyes flutter open enough to see Brittany turning back around from making sure nobody's looking and tangle their hands together.

Everything goes quiet again and Quinn stays up longer than Brittany wondering what it must feel like to be in love and not be able to show it.

She dozes slightly as the night goes on, but never really falls asleep, wondering what love feels like in the first place.

/

Later, Santana stops for gas and deliberately comes back to the car, just to cover them in blankets. Quinn sighs at how quietly kind she is. It hurts to know that no one will ever find out about this, that she'll keep hiding it for as long as she can.

It's not until she lets one eye crack open and watches Santana cover Brittany, that Quinn can't fight the lump in her throat. The blanket is old and it's usually piled in a heap on the back seat of Santana's car. It's covered in rainbows and Quinn's never been sure which one of them it originally belonged to. Sometimes there's things about them that merge and leave no seams behind.

Her eyes flicker as she watches Santana brush dust from it reverently, like it's one of the most important things in the world. But she realizes it's not the blanket she's worried about when Santana slowly drapes it over Brittany's body, sure to cover each and every bare bit of skin that might feel a chill. Her expression is so soft that it scares Quinn. She's not sure she's ever seen someone look so enamored by another person, so hopelessly.

With every uneasy sigh that leaves Santana, Quinn isn't sure if it's relief or fear that fills her friend. She watches through lidded eyes as Santana carefully pushes the pillow between Brittany's face and the window. Her fingers are so delicate, Quinn can barely stand to watch it. It feels like she's intruding but she can't look away. Her eyes well with tears as Brittany stirs and Santana leans to soothe her, nose pressed to her hair and lips pressing against her skin.

She doesn't think anyone could look after anyone the way that they look after each other.

But then Santana lets out an uneven breath and whispers three words that Quinn didn't expect to hear in a space so confined and open.

"I love you," she whispers and it's so easy and so struggled that Quinn has to bite back the choke of tears she feels burning irrationally up her throat.

She changes her mind. She doesn't think anyone could love anyone the way they love each other, and begins to think that maybe she understands what love really is.

/

New Orleans is as beautiful as she thought it would be, full of culture and architecture that instantly make her forget Lima, Ohio.

Santana spends the morning sleeping at the hotel, so she walks around the city with Artie and Brittany, guide book in hand, as they explore a place they don't know like the back of their hand. She's glad that no one else followed them and that they went in their own direction, but she finds it hard to deny that exploring this city feels wrong without Santana. Quinn can tell that this is her kinda place.

But Brittany holds a disposable camera in her hands and snaps away at everything she can see, and Quinn thinks that maybe she doesn't have to worry that much that Santana's missing this when she's the one that deserves it most.

/

Puck mentions drinking and partying and that's the last thing she wants to do.

She looks to Santana, hoping and praying that she'll see sense, and she does but not enough to stop the sudden increase of heart rate Quinn feels.

_Midnight,_ she repeats in her head. _I can make it until midnight._

She keeps repeating it like a mantra.

/

She doesn't even make it to the door of the hotel.

Her hands begin to shake and her heart begins to beat faster and faster until it's not beating at all. Her skin prickles with sweat and, as she looks down at the mascara wand in her hand, she

wonders how even the most familiar actions suddenly seem so difficult. It almost hurts just to lift her hand to her face to swipe the wand against her eyelashes because all her mind keeps asking her is "What's the point?"

What's the point in all this when nothing comes from it anyway? No one cares if she's beautiful, no one cares if she's ugly, fat, a bitch, stupid. All the care about is whether or not she's good enough. And no one seems to think that she is, so what's the point? What's the point of getting dressed up and beautiful, just so she can sit at the back of a room and stare at everyone else getting happier and happier?

But there's some other part of her that's still fighting, still refusing to believe that she should just give up, no matter how much her head shouts it at her. It fights back and it determinedly grips the mascara wand, holds it so tightly in her hands that her entire hand almost goes so white it's blue. She tussles and struggles with her own body just to get it to do what she wants it to, even though it's forcing her to refuse.

She lets out a sob when Santana wrestles the stupid thing from her, and tears well in her eyes but she doesn't know why. It's like her friend is taking all the weight from her and she slumps into her as her other arm drops the mirror, feeling weaker than ever.

Her breathing is ragged as Santana takes over, swiping the brush over her eyelashes expertly. If she wasn't on the verge of falling apart in ways she doesn't want to think about, it would almost be like some pre-teen sleepover. Santana fixes her make-up, dabbing the run mascara away from eyes, and tries to smile at her even though desperate concern paints its way across her face.

It's not until Brittany steps behind her, arms wrapping around her neck to pull Quinn tightly to her just to keep her steady, that Quinn knows something bad must be wrong for Brittany to notice.

Still, she ignores it and lets the weight of whatever it is fall to her friends.

/

She goes to the bathroom, leaving them sat on the bed waiting for her. She stands and stares at herself in the mirror and tries to convince herself that nothing's wrong, nothing needs changing. She washes her face of the make-up Santana put on her and gains enough control to reapply the make up herself.

When she steps out of the bathroom, she feels no different, but it's more than easy enough to convince the world otherwise.

/

Puck hands her a fake ID and alarm bells begin ringing. She doesn't know why, but there's something in her eyes that makes her see red.

It's still there while he's handing out shots of Jack and still there when she finds herself sandwiched between Artie and Puck at the restaurant. She turns one way and smiles with Artie, and turns another just for Puck to give her a wink and top up her glass. She drinks it, only because she feels like she needs to in order to get through the night, but Puck notices the way that she gulps the liquid down and relishes the burn, and winks again.

His hand falls to her bare knee under the table and she lets it sit there for a moment, body slipping into panic, before she turns to him incredulously and shoves the hand away.

The stronger part of her brain sparks up and refuses to be that stupid again.

Puck shakes his head at her, but his eyes say more than disappointment. It's something deeper that Quinn can't handle identifying.

/

He stays away from her the rest of the night.

They go to a gay bar and there's part of her that's glad, because it'll be good for Santana, but another part that's too tired to care again.

She stands at the back with Artie and she spends all the cash she brought with her on drinks for them both, only Artie doesn't seem to be catching up that well.

/

They're all drunk by ten-thirty and there's a part of Quinn that thinks, if she knew that was all it would take for them to come back to the hotel, then she'd have downed Puck's bottle of Jack and never left in the first place.

Artie leads her into another hotel room, following after the others, and she's too drunk to care about them. Too drunk to give a crap about Lima and McKinley and the New Directions. All she cares about is whether or not she'll have to remember anything in the morning. She's hoping she doesn't.

/

It's been about half an hour since her last drink and it takes about another fifteen of being in the hotel room before she begins to sober up. Artie sits beside her with Puck, talking about nothing in particular that she knows about, and she phases out from whatever it is they're saying before noticing what's going on in the room.

Everyone's kissing.

Finn and Rachel, Kurt and Blaine, they can hear Tina and Mike next door. Even Sam's all over Mercedes.

It feels like she's being hypnotized, teased, taunted, and she looks around the room at all these happy people and suddenly it becomes too much. It feels like her head is being compressed and bombarded by all the things she doesn't have, all the things that she doubts she'll ever get.

"I'm going to bed," she mumbles and gets up unsteadily. No one protests.

Puck helps her onto her feet, barely balanced on his own, and guides her to the door. The door slams a second after she's on the other side of the threshold.

It feels like she's only just learned how to walk and she clutches at the walls as she makes her way to her room, the number written on the inside of her wrist, just in case.

314. She stops outside of it and stares around, not really remembering how to open a door. She considers a key and then remembers that Santana had the only one stuffed into her bra, so she braces her fist ready to knock on the door until she hears those three words again, whispered out even more desperately than she did the night before.

"I love you," Santana pants breathlessly. "I love you," she says around a moan, before all Quinn can hear is kissing and moving bodies.

And Quinn can't stand it. She can't stand all this love that she doesn't have, so she blindly stumbles backwards, shaking her head in refusal as she walks away.

/

She debates going to a bar, debates going to a cafe she read about that stays open twenty-four hours a day. She's practically sober by the time she walks past a still open church, and she stares up at it for fifteen minutes from across the street before she decides it's the last place she wants to be.

/

It's only by accident that she stumbles on the marigny. She looks around and it feels like the earth is talking to her, like she was meant to be here, so she settles down on the levee and listens to the city move around her. She's never felt so in tune with her surroundings, even while still a little drunk, so she doesn't care that it might be dangerous.

It's peaceful for a while, but even that gets too much because soon the only sounds she hears are the ones in her head.

Her mind taunts her with thoughts she hasn't wanted to have out of fear of what they might mean. They tug at the back of her brain and slip their way to the front and she begins to question and bargain with some nameless person that isn't there, inside of her head.

/

Her cellphone rings and she's surprised to see that it's almost one in the morning.

She doesn't answer it, not sure what to say, and watches it keep ringing.

There's something about no one knowing where she is that makes her feel better.

/

It's not until it rings again and Santana leaves her a frantic voicemail that she actually realizes that there are a few people out there who care about her.

The guilt swells inside of her and she can't bear to call Santana back, so she sends her a one-worded text, not sure what else to say or whether or not _I'm sorry_ is appropriate.

/

She's crying by the time they find her. Why? She doesn't know, but the nameless reason is there filling up every inch of her consciousness, weighing her down to the ground like an anchor tied around her chest.

Tears stream down her face and she feels so pathetic and useless that she just lets Santana wrap her arms around her. It's when those arms circle around her that she realizes, for the first time, that she's freezing cold in her brand new green dress.

A kiss brushes against her cheek, and the comfort is so unfamiliar that Quinn breaks a little as Santana rests her chin against her bare shoulder. A sob escapes her, as do some words she's not sure are true. Words about the others come tumbling from her mouth, about how she can't handle seeing so much romance when she's all alone. Santana's kind, consoling, but Quinn tells her that she and Brittany do little to help the lonely feeling in her chest. In not so many words, Santana informs her that what she heard is not what it seems, that nothing's fixed for her yet either. It makes her feel better, somehow, to know that sometimes having the love isn't enough to make everything go away, but she still feels jealous that everyone else has what she wants.

The sun starts to bleed across the sky and Quinn takes in a deep breath. She looks around at the destruction and the decay that surrounds her, at the life on one side of the river and the desolation on the other.

She thought that she would feel better by now, but she doesn't. Her heart and her mind feel at ease in this city, like she fits here better than she's fit anywhere else. Looking around her, she doesn't exactly think that's a good thing.

Disappointment clouds her eyes and she looks down at the ground as she opens her mouth to speak.

"It's sad, isn't it?" she says suddenly, and she meant to whisper but it comes out louder than she thought she could manage. It echoes through the half-dark twilight. "It's been almost six years and this city's still not completely put back together."

Tears break through the reluctant barriers of her eyes and Santana looks at her thoughtfully as hopelessness floods her body like water through a dam.

She doesn't think she can take six years of feeling like this.

/

She's shocked to see Artie waiting for them just a few yards away. She hopes he didn't hear her cry as he uncomfortably looks around him, waiting for trouble to find them. His eyes look tired but wary and aware. They stay that way until he turns to see her, smiling wildly in relief. The expression makes something flutter in Quinn's stomach and her chest tightens in a way that she's not felt before. For once, it doesn't hurt.

It makes her smile.

She doesn't think twice when he tells her to sit in his lap. She's exhausted and tries to think of the last time she slept but, once she can't, she gives up, realizing she doesn't want to know.

The streets are still busy, just like her brain, and she lets them believe that she's asleep, listening as Santana lets out a little laugh and starts to push them both along. Quinn knows that Santana and Artie could be friends if they let themselves.

But, stubborn as ever, they don't talk. Neither of them speak until Artie pulls his jacket tighter around Quinn's body and pushes blond hair from her face. The touch is so gentle it almost feels like it didn't happen at all. Her breath hitches in her chest and she spends quick seconds convincing herself that it was her imagination, or an accident, or just Artie being kind.

All those thoughts go out the window when Santana speaks.

"Don't even think about it, Abrams," she says.

Quinn tries to fight the blush on her cheeks and pretend not to notice the warmth that spreads over Artie's where it rests against her forehead.

/

They still think she's asleep, and she almost is, but Artie nudges her gently awake once they're back in the hotel and she lets the pair of them guide her heavy and exhausted body to her bed.

She feels one of them leave and assumes that it's Artie, but then rougher, larger hands wrap around her ankle and she realizes that it's Santana that's gone. Artie slips the shoes off her feet and sets them beside the bed before tugging the covers up to her shoulders. She feels instantly warm, but not because of the blankets.

Somehow, a few minutes later, she manages to fall asleep.

/

Brittany drives and Quinn would never admit to anyone that she instantly feels a little safer because of it. There's only so many times Santana can angrily slam on her breaks before a person starts to actually believe they're going to die.

Her own problems fly out the window for a minute when she sees Santana's hand cover her mouth and the slight shake of her shoulders. Quinn watches silently as she forces the tears not to rattle her body like they want to.

She keeps one eye open and watches her as Brittany remains content and oblivious in front of her. She just wants to make sure that Santana's okay and she knows that the only way to do that is keep Brittany calm. As much as she knows that neither of them would need her if Brittany noticed the tears, she also knows that Santana needs this to herself. She needs this moment and she needs to keep Brittany away from it, for both their sakes. Still, she wants to make sure, just in case.

They're a mystery and an open book to Quinn, painfully intriguing and desperately obvious at the same time. Something's different this morning and she can tell, just from the way that Brittany can't keep the smile off her face and Santana can't even look at her own in the mirror.

It was apparently glaringly obvious that something had happened between them to Artie, too. He'd noticed the way they kept their distance getting ready that morning and putting stuff in the car. Quinn assumes it was the lingering touches. He hadn't outright asked, of course. But he'd asked if they were okay and if she knew if anything had happened.

Quinn had shrugged and said she didn't care before grabbing some food from the breakfast buffet. Artie had looked at her like he didn't believe her.

/

She and Santana girl talk at a gas station and it feels kinda cliché and kinda like something that she should be reading in one of her books. After Santana leaves the gas station in a frustrated rage, Quinn finds a notebook and buys it, spending the rest of the journey writing down random observations and things that don't seem to have any significance at all yet. She hopes that one day they might.

/

It gets so bad that the others revolt and lock Santana in her car. If Quinn had her way, she'd let Santana kick the crap out of all of them while she, Brittany and Artie stand and watch.

Rachel somehow manages to convince Brittany to get Santana's keys from her, and before Brittany can realize what's going on, they've locked Santana in her car spewing out rightfully angry Spanish as Puck slips her keys into his pocket.

(Quinn quickly gets those keys off of him with a few choice words and a wide-eyed look in his direction. She tries not to see hope in his eyes or think about what it might be for.)

Brittany's not happy with the others for locking Santana up, but Quinn thinks she could use the alone time, so she takes Brittany and Artie for Taco Bell. Strangely, it's not Brittany, or even Quinn, that mentions that they should really get Santana something to eat.

"Maybe it'll help make her feel better," Artie says with a concerned look at both Quinn and Brittany, and for the first time, Quinn thinks that maybe he gets it, even if he doesn't want to say.

/

Artie gives Brittany some cash to get them all something to eat. Quinn laughs about him being a gentleman until Brittany leaves and he shrugs away a sigh.

"You still care about her," Quinn states with a little sadness, a little worry.

Artie nods. "I don't think it's like that anymore," he says. "We're just friends and, I don't know, when you guys were in the gas station, I asked her how she was and she looked like she was going to cry. Usually I'd try and kiss it better, but I didn't know what to say to make her feel better, so I gave her a hug. I just want to be her friend."

Quinn squeezes his hand and gives him a smile and they stay like that until Brittany somberly bounces back holding bags of food.

They eat their food, but when Brittany pauses getting up with Santana's, unsure of whether she should take it to her or not, Quinn takes the bag from her and smiles in the most caring way she can manage.

"I'll go," she says and Brittany's shoulders slump like she doesn't know if it's the best or worst thing she's heard all day.

/

She goes to find Artie while Brittany and Santana talk and she can't even think about the books, just about what Santana had said.

It feels weird that just a few words have completely changed the way that she looks at him, how she thinks about him, even though she knows that she shouldn't let them. Not Now. Not so soon.

But he looks at her and smiles, passes her all the books he knows without a doubt she'll like, points out all the ones that she's read already, and makes her laugh at all private jokes until the store owner is looking at her like she's crazy.

It makes it harder to disregard Santana's observations, but she forces herself to anyway.

He's just a friend and nothing more.

There's no way she's letting him become caught up in the mess that is her life, her heart. No way.

/

There's so much in her head, she doesn't have the effort to care what Rachel Berry is saying about Finn, that things are wrong between Kurt and Blaine, or that Mercedes is dating Sam.

Well, that's a lie. She cares a little bit that Mercedes is dating Sam. She's the kind of nice girl that Sam deserves and that reminder stings a little.

But Santana seems to have known everything they're saying already and Quinn spends more time thinking about what else Santana knows than anything else. There's part of her that seriously wonders how no one could have noticed these subtle caring and considerate nuances to Santana's personality, but then she remembers who she's thinking about and remembers why.

For the millionth time since they left, Quinn wishes she'd kept her big mouth shut and not said anything to anyone about this stupid trip.

She listens vacantly, watches them out of her periphery and stares out onto the open road with another book in her lap.

/

Tina and Brittany talk about Artie and, as much as her chest fills with joy for Santana, what Tina says fills her with dread and relief all at once.

Her heart palpitates at the idea of Artie liking someone, thuds wildly in her chest at the thought of there being someone who Artie might hold more in his affections than anyone else. Her stomach flutters with a million butterflies she tries desperately to tamp down, but they're there, hopeful, bright and free. It's a feeling unlike any she's experienced before and it's completely out of her control.

But then she turns slow enough to not get noticed and sees the sparkle that grows in Tina's eyes. It scares her, knowing that she probably feels the same way too. It starts something territorial inside of her into action and she wants to blame it on being concerned of the welfare of her friends. She wants to blame it on being worried about Mike and Artie getting hurt. Tina broke Artie's heart once. She hurt him and, as Artie's friend, it's her job to remember that when everyone else does, so it doesn't happen again.

Quinn knows what it's like to break a heart, to cheat on someone. She knows how easy it is to do it again and how much it breaks your own heart as much as those you hurt. She can't bear to think of Artie being hurt in something like that again.

It's that same fear of hurting him that stops Quinn from smiling, from feeling hope that the person Artie likes might be her, and she deliberately avoids Santana, knowing that she'll already have figured it out anyway.

/

Quinn can sense the real direction of the conversation before it even drifts that way. Rachel won't shut up about Finn, how much she loves Finn, her virginity, how something's missing and incomplete from her life, and Quinn feels it approaching like a bullet. She pretends like she's not listening.

Eyes drift to Santana and words begin to linger onto the subject of how she took Finn's virginity. Quinn feels some weird sort of bitter happiness at the thought. If she couldn't take Finn's virginity properly, at least Rachel Berry didn't either and Santana did. She'd struggled with that knowledge for some time, that her best friend had done what she was meant to do, but she got over it eventually.

When a dozen eyes are finally on her, questioning her, she puts on her best facade and acts like it doesn't even phase her. It nags at her that Santana's looking too, because she feels like she should know the answer to the question these looks give her already. She shouldn't be curious too.

Rachel looks at her like she knows the answer already. Quinn darts her eyes away because, in truth, Rachel Berry knows nothing about her. She knows what Rachel thinks, but she's wrong. So she infers more than she means to about how her and Finn would express their feelings. She lets bitterness seep into her words as she fails to set at ease their wandering minds, and doesn't tell them that the only one true skill Finn Hudson has is his mediocre ability to leave a hickey in the worst place possible. The rest she never got to find about and, really, she's not sure that she ever wanted to.

They look at her like she's from some strange planet when she tells them that she thinks they should just do it and get it over with. She supposes anyone would with the hypocritical way the girl from the celibacy club is pretty much pushing them into having sex.

In reality, she doesn't know what she believes anymore. Celibacy club was just a way to avoid the events of the last year and pretend they never happened. It's what she wishes most of the time.

None of them know what it was like. She's not sure there's anyone in this world that knows what it was like for her all those months, feeling so worthless and guilty all of the time. She knows that none of them will ever have to go through what she had to go through. There's good odds that the rest of them have probably all learned from her mistake and realize that they should use a condom. They can do what they want. Tina could cheat on her boyfriend if she wants and she won't have to carry the evidence of that around with her for nine months with every single person looking at her and knowing exactly what she's done.

The only thing she knows they'll all share with her is the regret. That's what someone told her once: that, no matter what, you always regret your first time. She wants Rachel and Kurt and Mercedes to feel that unbearable disappointment too. She wants them to stay awake at night and question whether they should have waited longer or picked someone else, or even suffer with the knowledge that they know exactly who they should have picked but didn't. She wants them to feel just as worthless and disheartened as she does. She wants them to wake up and grow up and realize that life isn't made up of fairy tales.

All that falls quickly down around her when Brittany opens her mouth, shocking her with disagreement.

Something begins to crumble and it feels like someone's reshuffling a deck of cards in her head, trying to find the card with the right answers on it. She tries to convince herself that it's just Brittany's innocence for a few minutes, but then Tina agrees and looks happier than she has done the entire time she's been in the car. Her face so wide with relief and pride that Quinn can't look at her anymore. She feels more cracks growing inside of her and she looks at Santana for answers. Out of all of them, she knows that Santana will be able to offer her solace. She knows that Santana will save her from feeling like all her beliefs are collapsing in.

But then, no. Santana doesn't save her. Her eyes seek out Brittany's in her rear view mirror like they're the only ones in existence and Quinn knows what's coming before the words leave her mouth.

"It was the best night of my life," she says quietly, but she's not even paying attention to anyone else but Brittany.

Quinn knows that it makes perfect sense without even thinking about it. She knows that this is the only way things could have ever been, that out of the entire group, they were the two that did it right. It makes sense but, in those few short words, Quinn feels her entire world start its final descent into destruction.

/

They come back into the room from getting dinner and no one notices that they're no longer wearing their lip gloss or that their hair is so mussed it looks like they've been dragged through a hedge backwards.

She sits in the room, watches couples around her look at each other like they're the only other people in the room. She listens to them talk, listens to them laugh, listens and hears and sees and can't help but feel a little lost. She sits and observes, spends the entire night trying to figure out what she's missing.

She listens to Tina and Mike in the room next door to them, as she falls asleep beside Santana, their wanton expressions of lust and love coming so freely from their lips. Their need is insatiable, like a thirst, and she doesn't understand it. She watches as Santana and Brittany move closer to each other in sleep, bodies lingering so close to the edges of their beds that she's more than sure they'll fall in a pile to the floor any minute.

She would consider warning them if she didn't think that it wasn't exactly what they would need to sleep better.)

She just doesn't understand it, why they all want to be so close, how they're so drawn to each other. It's like their bodies are magnets and she doesn't understand how. She doesn't understand why she's never felt that with anyone else but, for the first time, she realizes that she's supposed to.

/

She doesn't sleep much, if at all, and wakes up early. She lays there and tries not to look at Brittany and Santana, tries to avoid letting herself get too into her own head and stares up at the ceiling, counting the number of tiles that cover the ceiling.

/

She spends most of the day telling herself that everything she thinks is right, everyone else is wrong and soon they'll all see how right she is and then she can pointedly remind them that they should have listened to her.

So what if she's alone?

That's until they get to the dolphin pool at Seaworld and Santana actually starts crying at the expression on Brittany's face as her fingers stroke over a dolphin's nose.

She wants to ask what's wrong, but she already knows that absolutely _nothing _is wrong. Everything is right and that's why she's crying, that's why she's smiling more effortlessly than Quinn thinks she knew Santana was able. This is what happiness really is, and she realizes that whenever she witnesses these moments between Santana and Brittany. Its situation might not be perfect; and its parties might not be strong enough to show it to the world yet, but this, she knows without question of a doubt, is what love looks like. Honest to God love is what they harbor boundlessly in their eyes.

And, as much as she can try to deny it, that's all she wants. Someone who can, with one look, bring her to tears and make her smile at the same time.

/

Puck approaches them toying with the zipper on his pants and grins lewdly at all of them.

There's a bitterness in his eyes when he looks at her and Quinn turns away before he can make her feel any worse than she already does. His dark eyes clearly say all the things that Quinn knows without question.

He doesn't want her or need her anymore.

She doesn't know whether she's relieved or unsettled by the statement.

/

After a mostly uneventful day without any real drama, she's almost convinced herself that things are settling down. They've been to Seaworld, they've eaten, there's been no yelling or threats of violence. She starts to believe that she might get to bed early.

That's until Puck pulls out a few bottles of liquor and a pack of cards, and ruins everything.

/

He doesn't look at her when he offers her the cup of Jack, and it's that which makes her take it from him and drink it in one gulp before asking for another. He offers her a smirk before filling it up again and she does the same to that one, before getting him to pour another and another.

She sits on one side of the room and watches everyone interact around her. Santana laughs as she tries to teach Rachel and Mercedes how to play Black Jack and Quinn chuckles to herself that at least they're losing some of their innocence this trip. Brittany sits beside her and her hand strokes slowly backwards and forwards over the patch of bare skin between Santana's shorts and tank top. No one can probably see, but Quinn does, and she feels panic rise in her throat for them, but everyone's too drunk to care right now.

She wonders why she isn't.

All she can hear is laughing. Laughter is everywhere and it makes her head hurt because none of it is hers. Through the haze of alcohol, she sees no reason to be laughing and the sound chokes around her making her feel claustrophobic.

Rachel and Finn are making out at the end of bed that's being used as a Black Jack table. Tina and Mike are practically one person as they sit on the couch, talking away to Artie who sways ever so slightly in his chair. Mercedes is doing that awfully loud drunk laugh of hers at the over-the-top impressions Sam is doing of all his favorite characters. Santana sits with Brittany as Puck deals out her cards and she has those eyes on again, the ones that look deep but crystal clear at the same time, love and awe radiating from them as Brittany sits between her legs against the pillows. She watches them all for long minutes, waiting for the usual feeling of panic and being overwhelmed to wash over her.

It doesn't take long.

When her eyes catch Santana's, she knows that she understands.

/

She walks down to the lobby and finds a seat by the window. There's a lot of people around, but most of them are heading out of the hotel. She watches them, pulling her notebook from her bag and setting it on her knees. She starts scribbling words and still doesn't know what they're for.

She must look good doing it because about twenty minutes later a guy in a suit comes up to her and asks her what she's writing.

Lying comes naturally and she mutters something how she's writing something for work. The man asks her what she does and the word "journalist" bubbles up her throat like vomit. But it makes the man smile wider and she finds herself smiling too. He asks her who she writes for and she tells him she's freelance at the moment. Here for an interview. He laughs kindly when she tells him that she can't remember who she's interviewing for. She saves herself quickly by rambling something off about there actually being a few interviews.

Whatever. It doesn't matter. The guy is obviously successful, funny, cute, and he's paying attention to her. That's all she can really get her head around.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asks and she thinks for barely a second before nodding. "I'm Daryl," he says softly. "And you are?"

The name is on her lips, but it falls flat. Quinn Fabray isn't the kind of girl who's a writer. Quinn Fabray is head cheerleader and wannabe prom queen. No. There's only one person who could have been this person she finds herself so easily emulating and people probably would have liked her more.

At least she was real.

"Lucy," she smiles. "My name's Lucy."

/

She can feel the drink going to her head.

Daryl ordered a bottle of champagne, after they'd had "warm up" cocktails that she couldn't name let alone the list the alcohol content of, and now they're slowly working their way through the bottle as they talk books and culture and all the things that you can't really find in Lima, Ohio.

She must look like a starstruck schoolgirl because this guy is yapping on about a million different things she doesn't know about. All she can understand is that her head is really heavy and her blood is rushing really fast and that she probably shouldn't have drunk all that Jack back in the hotel room because now she feels a little sick. And a little daring.

She doesn't think she's ever been this drunk. The room is spinning and she puts out a hand to stop herself from falling, even though she's sitting down. The bar stool wobbles a little and Daryl looks at her, eyes narrowed with concern.

"Are you okay, Lucy?" he asks softly.

She looks at him like he's grown three heads. "Who's Lucy?" she mumbles, eyes fluttering. She doesn't feel so much like Lucy anymore. She doesn't think she ever really has.

Daryl looks at her and a million different things rush his face before he jumps up from the stool and pats his suit pockets.

"I completely forgot..." he starts, but she already knows what's coming and tunes it out, pouring herself another glass of champagne. He leaves and she doesn't care.

/

Over the next hour, men step up to her one by one and offer to buy her a drink.

She takes them all, having nothing better to do.

When they realize that they're going to get nothing more than a drunk mess, they leave and don't come back.

/

Until this guy. He holds her up, having taken away her bar stool for no reason. She keeps looking around for it, even though she can barely see. She wonders if someone took her contacts out when she wasn't paying attention.

The guy mumbles things in her ears, things about taking her to bed and getting her some more to drink, things about how he'll "take care" of her in a voice that doesn't really say he's going to take care of her at all. Things that scare her but she's too drunk, too out of control of her own body, to say so.

"What's your name, baby?" he asks softly, hand palming her ass.

"Qui..." she starts but her eyes roll back into her head. She wonders somewhere if the guy has put something in her drink, but then she looks at him and realizes he's not smart enough for that. He's just jumping on an opportunity.

"Lucy," she says instead and she's not sure why.

/

Santana comes and Quinn's only able to register the feeling of relief faintly through the heaviness of the alcohol. She's so past drunk she's almost unconscious. Santana props her up and she slips in and out of it as they wait. All the words around her sound like the would if she was being dunked under water and she assumes she isn't because of how warm she is. Then she blacks out.

/

When she was pregnant, she got morning sickness all the time.

That's all she can think about, right now, is how she used to throw up for no reason, and sometimes stupid reasons. Like she would smell her mother cooking waffles and the need to would wrack her body so violently that she would have to run to the bathroom and empty everything in her stomach, just to make herself feel better.

That's kinda what this feels like. Throwing up all the alcohol in her system makes her feel better.

But as Santana holds her hair from her face, she realizes that throwing up the alcohol doesn't really make her feel better – really better – at all.

/

She doesn't remember anything when she wakes up. She can recall the whole day, up until she left the hotel room and went downstairs to get away.

After that, it's blank and the only thing left behind is the lingering smell of vomit and pain all over her body.

She turns over to see Brittany and Santana in the bed beside her and knows, just from the way their hands cover hers, that it wasn't good.

/

Santana yelling at her at breakfast just confirms that.

She subconsciously shifts closer to Artie, who just looks happy that she's okay, and shrugs like she has no idea what Santana's talking about.

/

Santana's ignoring her, so she talks to Artie. Tina and Mike are there too, and it's hard to get a word in when Artie and Tina talk in private jokes. She doesn't want to feel jealous but does when Tina can waltz in, just like that, and steal away all of his attention.

It's like she's not even there, and the easy way that Artie forgets her like everyone else scares her more than she thought possible. For a moment, they boy she thought was different feels just like all the others.

She still manages to feel sorry for Mike, though. If he wasn't the only one replying to anything she said, she'd think he wasn't there at all.

/

It goes from friendly banter to shameless flirting quicker than she knows how to handle. Her hands are touching Artie in ways that she's not familiar with, even if he's her friend. Her hand rests on his knee as they sit on a bench, but Tina's there right beside him and has all of his attention.

She starts talking about books and about things that only they know about, just to see Tina's face fall and frown, and doesn't know why she's doing it. She told Santana she doesn't even like Artie; he's just a friend. She tries to blame it on being concerned for the welfare of her someone she cares about, but it gets harder and harder the higher and higher her hand rests up his thigh. He seems to be enjoying the attention, though, so she doesn't stop and tries not to question it.

But the jealousy bubbles, even thought she's nothing in comparison to Tina. Everyone knows how Artie's felt about Tina since Freshman year and she knows she can't compete with those deep-seated feelings he has for her, even if she has a boyfriend who loves her.

But she can't stop, so she doesn't and tries her best to keep it to herself.

/

They come off _Space Mountain,_ and Artie has a face like thunder, his arms thrown across his chest.

From the way that she's smirking, Quinn knows that Santana has something to do with it and her heart drops.

She wants to yell, but she doesn't want to get caught out. So she joins the line for _Splash Mountain_ without a word.

Pretending gets harder once Tina's stormed away and Santana gets the text from Artie saying he's taken her somewhere. Santana gives her a look when she reads it over her shoulder and she shakes herself free from any interest she might have. She acts indifferent, even though it stings, and snorts at Santana as she gets onto the ride looking like she's seconds away from hurling.

It feels easier to tell herself that she never had a chance.

/

She pretends that she's just being there for Mike when she goes off to look for Tina and Artie.

Santana gives her a look that says she's full of shit.

/

She watches Santana give Brittany the toy, and then gasps in shock when Brittany kisses her. It's the first time she's seen them kiss. She's heard them plenty of times, but this is the first time she's seen them and she takes in how desperate they look, how they seem to relax completely into each other, how they look so effortless even though it's so hard.

She looks around to see if anyone saw and is relieved to find that most people are faced in the other direction. She's not sure that they'd get it, or if they did, that they'd respect it like they should.

So she watches them and wishes for her day to come when someone loves her that much.

It takes her mind off other things and when they blush and act like they don't know that they're both madly in love with each other, it makes her smile.

/

When the arguing starts across the entire floor, she wants to be angry, but her body gives up quickly with the inevitability of it all.

If it wasn't now, it's only going to be later or tomorrow or the next day. She's resigned herself to the knowledge that, somehow, there's always going to be someone in this damn club out to ruin her day.

It's that fact which makes her angry and pace the floor because what right do they have to ruin this trip? Why can't they let them have one month where everything's good? Even one week would be enough.

But the anger soothes everything else in her for a while and, for once, as she paces the floor and lets her new dress – bought especially for the occasion – swish around her knees, she's glad for the volume of Rachel Berry's voice drowning out her thoughts.

/

She doesn't really care, but she joins in with Santana and Brittany as they try to figure out what the hell is going on. It's kinda fun, for a while; making fun of the others for their stupidity reminds her of old times when they were the three popular cheerios who hated the Glee club.

She relays what's going on with Kurt and Blaine with interest and forces her own problems from her mind.

/

But an hour later, it's over. It's not funny anymore because they're stuck in a hotel room and no one else has come to find them, not even Artie and Puck.

When Brittany informs them that Puck and Artie have gone to get booze, a spark of hope flares in her and she's not sure why.

It makes her feel sick a little, but it doesn't stop her getting up a little while later and wandering off to find them.

The shouting has started to dull and she can start to hear the sounds in her own head again.

As she walks quickly down the hall, the only thing she feels is desperation and need.

She doesn't know what for.

/

She pauses when Puck tells her that Artie stepped out to get some snacks once he heard all the shouting.

He reassures her that he should be back soon, and that's the only reason she crosses the threshold.

/

After twenty minutes of silence, and of Quinn trying to figure out the last time they were in a room alone together, Puck finally asks:

"You wanna drink?"

/

Forty-five minutes later, Artie's still not there and Quinn's got that dizzy, tipsy feeling that she only likes because it means she's closer to being drunk.

She lays beside Puck on the couch, watching TV and passing the bottle of gin backwards and forwards.

"We could have been good together, you and I," Puck says all of a sudden, and she turns to him, bleary-eyed, trying to figure out what he wants by saying that.

She shakes her head and it makes her feel a little more drunk, a little more dizzy. "No, Puckerman. We wouldn't."

"We could have been," he says again and she sighs. It's more out of fear than annoyance. "We could have been awesome if you gave us half a chance."

"Puck," she says, but it's all she can manage before he's rolling over and kissing her.

Her hand hands push at his chest and she wriggles out from beneath him with heavy limbs. He looks at her, brow furrowed, like he's confused about why she's here, like he thought this is what she wanted, and shakes his head.

"I have to go," she says and then she's leaving, still wiping a taste from her mouth that reminds her of a time over a year ago when she was still popular and pretty and had everything.

It makes her feel sick.

/

She makes it to the lobby before she's running across to the ladies restroom by the bar and hurling. It doesn't surprise her that nothing other than alcohol and bile comes up.

She looks at herself in the mirror, forcing away a million thoughts that run through her head.

Thoughts about second chances and doing things right and fixing everything that's broken.

Her heart battles with her head and she's not sure which one she should listen to, or which one she trusts more to make her decisions.

/

She goes back to the hotel room, but Santana and Brittany aren't there and she doesn't have a key. She debates asking for one at the desk, but fleeting memories about the night before keep coming back to her (one of them is of the manager telling them that this "is family-friendly hotel" and Santana yelling Spanish at his face and lying that she's diabetic and needs her medicine) and force her to rethink that decision.

It's that embarrassment which also makes her rethink going to the bar, so, instead, she figures her best bet is to go try and catch the fireworks and find out where Artie got to with the snacks. She's kind of hungry.

She's thinking about that when something stops her. One minute her mind is wondering if Artie remembered to get those cookies she likes and the next she's noticing dark rectangle glasses out the corner of her eye, the glimmer of metal and the multicolored flashing lights of wheelchair wheels from deep within a half-lit alcove.

A smile reaches her eyes and she skips forward in relief, but that dies quickly when she notices the body that's wrapped around him, the Doc Marten boots that poke out into the light over purple tights. Then she hears the smacking of lips and the tiny breathy moans that only come from kissing like the world is ending, like there's only seconds before somebody sees and they have to make the most of it.

Somewhere, deep inside of her, something inside of Quinn breaks again. Something that doesn't feel like her heart, but lighter – like it was barely there or barely together in the first place – that probably no longer stands a chance.

Disappointment floods her senses and she flees, heading back into the hotel instead of out the revolving doors.

/

She raps on the door slowly, out-of-breath and still wondering if this is the right thing to do. She doesn't know when she decided that this was the best idea, but here she is and she's obviously made up her mind.

Her heart hitches in her throat and she holds it as the door opens and he looks at her, a little confused and a little tired-eyed, but they brighten when he notices the way that she shifts from foot to foot and plays with her dress.

"You wanna come in?" he asks softly and she steps through the door wordlessly.

She feels like a glass that's broken and turned into sand. She imagines herself lost in a desert, on a beach, and her hands reaching to keep hold of the sand that rushes through her like an egg-timer, trying to hold herself together. Panic fills her and her heart palpitates as a cold sweat coats her skin.

"Am I good enough, Puck?" she whispers and he sees the struggle in her eyes as she reaches out to grasp for him.

He smiles and strokes hair from her face, runs the edge of his thumb down her jaw bone.

"You're Quinn Fabray," he says like that's the best answer he has. But she's not sure what he means, only that it must be good because he's smiling wider and bringing her closer.

He kisses her slowly and he tastes like peppermint toothpaste and gin. It's not the best and it's not the worst combination but she licks her lips after anyway to try and remember what he tastes like. He pulls away and she looks at him and, without a doubt, knows that this is the best she'll ever have. This is what she's meant for, this is her life. Puck is the boy who said he loved her, even when she was having his kid and taking her away from him at the same time. This is what she's meant for and, right now, this is her second chance to take it.

She's not going to be that stupid again.

So she kisses him and tries to will it to feel different this time.

/

It's only her second time and it hurts more than the first. Her eyes sting with the need for tears and she's not sure if that's because of the pain or the hollow ache inside of her chest.

A year ago. It's been a year... she's a year-old... this is all... She lets out a moan crossed with a whimper and mixed with the undeniable sharpness of a sob.

She squeezes her eyes closed and pulls him closer, buries her nose into his neck and tries not to notice the way that he flinches away from the action a little.

She tells herself over and over again that this is a do over, this is a second chance. They'll do this again and see what happens, if they're meant to be together and they're meant to have all those things that Puck wanted last year and she refused, then the universe will let them have them again. This is a second chance. If this is her destiny, then it'll happen.

But as he kisses her as she feels a warmth, that isn't her own, burst inside of her, she's not so sure.

/

He falls asleep and she only gets half-dressed, wanting to be out of there as quick as possible.

She carries her shoes and her cardigan, her bra and the slip she wore underneath her dress, screwed up into a ball in her arms and leans against the door after she's closed it. She thinks about people in love, about Santana and Brittany, and how they might fall asleep after making love. She doesn't think that they sprawl out naked and steal the covers, that they don't black out straight away and leave each other unsatisfied. Laying beside each other doesn't feel like they've landed naked in an alien planet.

She wills away the tears as she pushes her way off the door. She can pretend this never happened. She can pretend it was just a dream, that it wasn't real.

She's about turn down the hall to her room when one of the doors close by opens. Her eyes widen and she gasps when she sees the person crossing the threshold.

"Artie..." she whispers and looks behind her where her hand still holds her upright on the door handle. She stops thinking about herself for a second when she notices the way he's dressed. Jacket gone, vest gone, no socks, shoes in his lap and half the buttons of his shirt undone. Even his fly is only half-up and his hair's a mess. He's not wearing his glasses either.

It's obvious what he's been doing... but with who?

Then she realizes who's room he's coming from and who is probably asleep, just like Puck, on the other side of the door.

"Oh," she says and nods. The need to cry increases.

Artie doesn't say anything, he just takes in her appearance.

"Yeah," he says and she nods and shame makes her feel like she's drowning.

"I should go," she says and then she's rushing from the hallway and around to the elevator.

It's there that she waits for the door to Artie's room to slam, before collapsing against the wall and bursting into tears.

/

Brittany's cheeks are flushed and there's a smile on her face, even when her lips aren't curved into one. Santana's not much better; all she wears is a sheet and her mussed up hair. Happiness suits her, Quinn notices, as they watch Brittany make her way to the bathroom. She doesn't have a second to think anything else because then Santana's rounding on her and asking her what happened.

She wonders if she looks like an open-book, or if Santana's able to know there's trouble on her pages without even looking at them.

She tries to play it off as nothing, but Santana looks at her with that same concern and she can't lie to her. She can't let her believe that something bad has happened.

"I slept with Puckerman," she whispers and Santana's hand darts away, expression clouded in a way that's impossible to read.

Quinn looks at her desperately and all she wants is for Santana to tell her whether she's done the right or wrong thing, whether she's been an idiot or not. That's what they do. They call each other out, they let each other know what's what and when Santana just shakes her head and refuses, the only thing that Quinn feels is fear and that says enough.

/

She spends too long showering. The water burns her skin and she stands in front of the mirror and waits for it to return back to its normal color once she's got out so that Santana doesn't see how scalding the water was.

But the need to wash off the night, and wash it off well, is too great. She just wants to be rid of the sweat and the smell and the lingering feel of his touch. She just wants to forget it ever happened in the first place. She wants to write the night off as a whole.

She steps out of the bathroom and doesn't need to worry about being seen. Brittany and Santana are already asleep, curled and tangled naked together with Brittany's head resting on Santana's chest.

This is what destiny looks like, she thinks, as she stands in the doorway. This is what something touched by cosmic brilliance looks like, this is something that's meant to be.

It only solidifies what, in her heart, she already knows to be true.

/

She wakes up early, purely because she can't sleep, and decides to walk around the hotel with no direction or destination.

Eventually, she makes it back to the lobby and finds Mercedes and Sam waiting outside the restaurant with Artie.

He doesn't say anything to her, doesn't say hello or acknowledge her, but she notices his face tighten with anger as Mercedes tells him how Tina and Mike spent the whole night arguing and are still up there now, having everything out.

She still sits close to him, but leaves two chairs between them. He still doesn't say anything and she wonders if he ever will again, and why not.

/

She's waiting at the elevator when Puck finds her. Her heart starts beating really fast and he looks sheepish as he steps up to her with his hands in his pockets.

"So, last night..." he starts and she gulps and tries not to burst into tears. She carries on looking at the elevator, watching it go up floor after floor, willing it to go faster. "Things got a little crazy."

She nods and his smile isn't really a smile at all but a grimace. It falls a little as he toys with something in his pocket.

"It probably wasn't a good idea for us to, I dunno, go there again, I guess?" he asks and she finally turns to him in a little relief, a little shock. She's not sure what she wants him to say, but she finds herself nodding when he shrugs. "I was drunk," he says but he doesn't really need to. She watches him, still shifting. "We didn't..." he mumbles. "I didn't wear a... Do you use..."

"What?" she asks, suddenly confused.

He looks at his feet and shrugs. "I didn't wear a condom," he says to the floor. "Are you on birth control or anything?"

Offended, she scoffs a little. "Why would I be on birth control?"

"I dunno," he says. "I just thought after what happened you wouldn't want to risk getting pregnant again."

She starts to feel like sand again as her second chance, her do-over, slowly turns into a one night stand of meaninglessness. She laughs a little, realizing it's probably only ruined the little she had left. There's no Santana now, no Artie, no nothing.

She shakes her head dumbly, wanting to snap something at him, but too shocked to know how. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little box, shoving it towards her and keeping the name on the front of it hidden. It doesn't matter, she knows what it is anyway; they showed her in health class.

"It's Plan B," he says quietly, and she snatches it from him, shoving it in her purse before he can say anything else.

"I know what it is," she says. The elevator opens and she steps inside it quickly, not looking at him as she presses the button for the ground floor.

/

Santana's by the car. Quinn can't breathe properly. She steps towards her gingerly.

"Santana..." she says softly. "Are we..."

She wants to ask if they're okay, but she can't quite get out the words. She doesn't have to because Santana laughs and slams the door.

"Still not ready, Fabray," she says, and Quinn's left wondering what she's not ready for.

Tina and Mike aren't arguing anymore when they emerge, but the group splits in different ways than usual. Puck doesn't get into the car like he usually does, and all the boys pack into Mike's car while all the girls and Kurt get into Blaine's. Quinn pays no attention, just watches how Artie slips into Puck's usual seat at the back and put his headphones on and blocks everyone out.

She doesn't know if she sees guilt or shame on his face. Even more than that, she doesn't know who he feels it for.

/

When they stop for gas, she waits for Santana to slip out of the car, and takes the pill from its packaging. Artie's too busy reading and listening to music to take notice, but Brittany turns to her and frowns in confusion.

"What's that?" she asks softly and before Quinn can stop her, Brittany has the box in her hand and is reading the front. Quinn doesn't expect her to know what it is, but her face falls and she looks up at her with wide worried eyes. "Oh..." she whispers and then she shakes her head adamantly. "You should take that and we should put this in the trash before Santana sees."

Quinn looks at her in surprise and watches as Brittany throws the box from the window and lands it in the trash can across from them. She pockets the sheet of directions still clutched in her hands and slips back the pill as Brittany offers her some water.

"Thanks," she whispers and feels a little bit of hope puddle inside of her.

/

There's a weird mixture of fear and freedom when she sees the ocean. It's not the first time she's seen it – her parents took them once when she was really little – but it might as well be. It hits her properly, the strange awareness that she's just one person on a huge gigantic world that's mostly covered in water, making her feel like she's drowning in it already.

She walks back to the car, figuring that it'll make her feel more at ease, and finds Santana there. There's a rush of cold air from the air conditioning and Quinn pauses a little at the realization of how hot it is out there, how much the sun shines brightly down on them.

When Santana scoffs and asks her if they used protection, she feels a little guilty when she lies. She reasons that she isn't technically lying; they did use some sort of protection in a strange backwards way. She doesn't feel like she's done the wrong thing though and definitely feels like she's saved Brittany an earful of anger later if she'd have told the truth.

But it's the whys that Santana so obviously wants to know that stump her. She asks her what she's doing and Quinn hates that she doesn't know; she's always had a plan but suddenly she doesn't. Santana hates it too, probably worse, and for a minute Quinn's happy that she doesn't have the ability to worry about herself like Santana does. But it's easier to pretend that nothing's wrong, even when it so obviously is. She wouldn't want to be like Santana is now, worrying herself into an angry panic.

She's also glad that Santana's actually talking to her, even through anger. It makes her relieved and she wallows in it, needing the reassurance it brings. She knows that she's done something wrong now, so she takes the bitchy comments and the sly remarks as punishment for what she's done.

She just wants someone to be angry at her, but it soon becomes apparent that the only person who is angry at her is herself. Santana is no closer to being angry at her than she is to not being in love with Brittany. She's worried, she's out-of-this-world worried about her, and that piles on the guilt more and more. That guilt is only increased when Santana tells her that she's her best friend. She hadn't realized how much she'd wanted one, and now it feels like she's losing it already.

She feels a surge of affection at Santana's words, the need to protect her running deeper than anything else she's felt in a while. She tries to convince Santana that nothing's wrong, wanting her to stop worrying, but it doesn't work.

"Quinn, you were freaking roofied the other night," Santana says, shocking her and confusion seeps into her bones, quickly followed by embarrassment and then shame, before all she wants to do is disappear. She wonders how many people think this, how many people were worried about her when all that had happened was her superior stupidity rearing its pathetic head again. She questions Santana, determined to misunderstand her accusations, but soon it becomes clear what she's really done.

And she knows, from experience, that it's best not to lie when you make mistakes, so she tells Santana the truth, and watches as Santana darts away from her again.

She feels consoled by the fact that Santana doesn't walk away, just stares at her like she doesn't know who she is anymore.

Quinn's not sure she does either.

/

Quinn remembers Santana's grandma from Christmas church services (the only ones that Santana's family had time to attend) and she's a little disappointed when Santana doesn't ask her if she wants to come visit her too. But, then again, she notices the way that Brittany looks nervous and Santana looks terrified and figures this is a big moment for them.

So, she sits and watches the others again, notices how they're subdued almost. She thinks that maybe it's from the shock of Brittany's outburst or the new information they have on Santana, but it's easier to handle than previous days.

Of course, it doesn't last long, and soon they're bickering again. She gets up instantly and starts to wander down the beach, concentrating on how the sand compacts beneath her feet.

/

She doesn't expect him to follow her, but he calls her name five minutes later and she stops watching as he wheels quickly towards her, out of breath when he stops.

"I thought you weren't talking to me," she says, not sure if she's bitter or confused, but sure that she's relieved.

He looks into his lap and his cheeks burn red. "I'm sorry."

"You have no right to judge me," she whispers softly and he looks up, a little shocked at her words.

He nods quickly, pursing his lips together. "I know. I'm sorry. We both made mistakes."

She nods in agreement and he looks at her softly before he indicates to the rest of the beach.

"You wanna avoid everyone else with me," he says playfully and she nods, smiling better.

/

They walk for what feels like hours, talking about all the things they usually do and deliberately not mentioning anything more about the things that they do.

Things feel normal, but they don't. Something in the air around them has changed and it burns with something she cannot name, just like Artie's eyes.

Artie spots a book store close to the beach and she helps push him up the slope back onto the street. He thanks her gently and she brushes her hand over his shoulder as they come to a stop. Something sparks at the touch and she darts her hand away, confused to how much she likes the feeling and how foreign it is. Artie narrows his eyes and blinks at her and, for a moment, she thinks that he noticed it too.

They don't say anything else, and she follows him inside silently, staring at the pads of her fingertips once he's turned his back to see if there's anything left behind.

/

She watches him, eyes pouring over aisles and shelves of books, his face tense in concentration.

As she picks up books upon books, she finds that all she wants to read is him.

He, however, seems to be looking for something like it will be the end of the world if he doesn't find it.

She smiles at the grin on his face when he finally does, and watches him zoom away to the counter to purchase it.

/

"Here," he says once he's found her outside the store.

She eyes the brown paper bag in his hands and wearily takes it from him. She falls to sit down on a low wall and rests it in her lap, almost at eye-level with him when she looks away from it.

"What's..." she starts but he shakes his head.

"It's my favorite," he explains and she loves it already. She holds it with great care and slowly takes it from the bag. It's a copy of _The Lion, The Witch And the Wardrobe._ It wouldn't be her first choice for reading material, but she holds it against her chest like it's made of gold.

She shakes her head at him, "Why didn't you ever tell me..."

He waves her off again. "It wasn't the right time," he explains softly and something in his expression changes that she doesn't understand. She stands and bends to lean into him, presses a lingering kiss to his cheek and pauses there to watch him blush.

But then it feels magnetic as something pulls her forward, and their mouths are a hair's breadth away from each other when Artie's cellphone starts ringing. Quinn almost gives herself whiplash as she pulls away.

"It's Brittany," Artie explains.

/

Artie leads her back to the others to tell them about the hotel. Brittany tells her that Santana said she's in charge until they get back, and she takes Artie as her second in command as they rally the others to check in.

Quinn spares Artie a glance when Tina and Mike walk back across the beach together, sombre but holding hands, but she doesn't think he's paying anything any attention.

/

The others take the suites and Quinn's happy about that. She's about to give Artie the keys to the room with two twin beds in it, when she remembers Santana and Brittany.

Artie sees her conflict and clears his throat.

"I don't mind sharing," he says and Quinn's heart beats a little faster.

/

They go to the hotel club, and Quinn's sure she's only there because the only other option is to be stuck in a hotel room alone with Artie.

And it feels weird to be worried about that, especially after last night, but really good at the same time.

It makes her happy.

Above anything else, it feels strange to be drunk and happy at the same time.

She's too content to question it anymore than that, even when Santana teases her about drinking too much.

/

Santana gives her a look as she hands her the key to their room and it says enough.

It validates any feeling or worry she might have as she turns and follows after Artie, no matter how many excuses about twin beds she makes.

/

She collapses back onto her bed with a sigh and laughs at nothing in particular. Artie wheels to the side of the bed and stops at her feet, reaching down to tug off her shoes. It reminds her of New Orleans and she smiles a little wider, patting the small space left beside her on the bed.

She's glad when Artie doesn't argue and gets from his chair to lay beside her, trying his hardest not to get too close to her.

"Thank you for my book," she says softly, suddenly sober and gladly so.

Artie shifts closer a little subconsciously.

"You're welcome," he says and his cheeks go pink again.

It's adorable, she realizes and she reaches up her heavy drunken hand to slowly stroke the backs of her fingers over his jaw bone. He's adorable and he's smart and funny and kind, caring. He's... she doesn't think there's enough words to describe this him that she doesn't know. There's no comparisons. She shifts closer to and suddenly, sadness and guilt washes over her.

"I'm sorry," she says and he frowns instantly.

"What for?"

She shrugs. "Hurting you. I didn't mean..."

Artie shakes his head and he shifts, a hand reaching to touch her waist. "Don't be," he says adamantly, and she can tell he feels just as wrong and guilty as she does. "You didn't… You don't need to be."

She doesn't know when they moved so close, but he's right there, practically nose to nose with her. She sighs and stills her fingers where they stroke his jaw and allows them to rest under the line of his jaw. She never realized how lovely his eyes are, how bright they are when they're not hidden behind his glasses. She pulls them from his nose quickly, and rests them on the nightstand before she moves even closer.

He turns his body, and wraps an arm around his waist. It's so slow and gentle, that it makes her shiver in anticipation, and she's barely able to register that thought before he's pressing his lips tenderly to hers, until her eyes flutter closed.

He pulls away and they share a look. Her eyes plead and it scares her how desperate she is to taste his lips again. He smiles slightly, the smile of someone who just got something they never thought they'd get, and leans again to appease her need.

He doesn't pull away.

/

He doesn't stop kissing her and doesn't try for anything else. His lips just run tenderly over hers and she shakes in his arms, not knowing what's going on but loving how it feels.

/

It's not unexpected that Quinn doesn't sleep that night.

What is, is that, for the first time in a _very_ long time, she doesn't want to.

She'd rather be awake forever, with her hands tangled in Artie Abrams' hair, close enough to taste all the words on his lips.


	9. Part 7

She doesn't really sleep. All she can think about is the way that Brittany had kissed her, how she'd looked at her and made her feel in just those few short moments.

It's hard to sleep when it feels like everything is moving out from underneath her. She knows that when she wakes up in the morning, everything will be different. Her friends will look at her with eyes she's never seen before, stare at her with a newness she didn't want to experience until at least her high school reunion, and it will change her entire world. She'll be a completely different person when she wakes up, so she tries her hardest to stop it from happening.

Her last thoughts before she drifts off every time are that, if this is how people act from learning she's smart, how will they be when everyone finds out that she's a lesbian?

She has dreams of slushees being thrown at her and of losing the last few things that keep her upright.

She wakes up with a gasp, drenched in a cold sweat, and starts the cycle all over again.

/.../

She wakes up late.

Her face is buried in the pillow, her arms wrapped around it and holding it close, and, when she peers over the corner of it to check to clock on the nightstand, she groans when she sees the hour is already in double-digits. Her plan had been to get up early and leave for the day before anyone noticed, wanting to avoid discovering how differently they look at her.

But by the time she manages to pluck up enough courage to walk down the stairs and find out, it's clear that avoidance is impossible. She pads slowly into the kitchen and sees them all sat on the deck out by the pool, already dressed in their swimwear. They all instantly turn and stare at her.

She tries to convince herself that it's because she's only wearing a t-shirt and underwear and looks totally hot in that fresh-out-of-bed kinda way. It's easier than remembering the real reason.

"Hi," someone says, and she's glad that it's Quinn. She sips orange juice from the carton and doesn't say anything. "Are... you okay?"

Santana turns slowly and notices that someone's cleaned her kitchen. She settles when she sees the way that Quinn looks at her as she leans against the counter. It's the same look that Quinn's given her since freshman year, when she would peer over her shoulder and notice the As adorning the top of most of her papers. It's the kind of look that makes her feel like it's okay to be who she is. Brittany used to give it to her too, only it made her feel a lot different.

She gulps and hopes that look hasn't changed.

"I missed breakfast," is all she can find for herself to say. She's still not sure how she feels.

Her brow furrows when Quinn laughs and she watches as her friend peers out the window to see if anyone's looking before turning away from them.

"No, you didn't..." she says and goes on at Santana's confused stare with a satisfied smirk. "They're too afraid of you to eat your food."

Santana smiles, and the information makes her feel a little better.

/.../

She makes them breakfast, hoping that it's enough to keep them from asking any questions.

None of them complain about anything even though she's not exactly generous with her portions and barks at them about not being fed again if they waste anything. Still, it manages to keep everyone quiet for at least fifteen minutes before they all quietly thank her and head back out to the pool.

The change is barely noticeable, but she feels it.

Brittany doesn't look at her once and sticks to Artie's side across the table.

It would worry her if it wasn't for Quinn resting her hand on his wrist and constantly stroking her thumb over his hand.

If it was any other day, she'd try to investigate, but she's too tired to care.

/.../

Their first full day in Key West is spent walking up and down Duval Street exploring, eating a late lunch in one of the local diners and wandering slowly to the beach to check out the white sand and crystal blue oceans.

"It's like another world," she hears Quinn mumble beside her, and she nods slowly as all the others excite themselves with wanting to visit Mallory Square or one of the numerous bars that litter the town.

She follows them slowly, book-ending Quinn and Artie with Brittany, wishing she knew what to say.

/.../

She tries her hardest to veer them away from it, but Rachel can spot an opportunity to sing a Barbra Streisand song from ten thousand feet, so it's a little hopeless. She notices the bar straight away, but it's not hard to with the huge sign for karaoke filling the entire window, and runs towards it with Kurt and Mercedes. They tug their boyfriends along behind them and it doesn't take much for the others to follow.

Santana remains outside with Quinn and Artie on the sidewalk and watches as Brittany hovers in the middle, torn between staying with them and following the others. Quinn opens her mouth to say something, but Santana shakes her head and forces herself to follow them in.

They're the last ones inside and Santana spends the last few minutes inside telling herself that things will be fine because it's too busy. Most nights here in Key West are too busy, just like the ones in New Orleans. There's no way she'll be discovered in this crowd. Not when Rachel, Kurt and Mercedes have taken over the stage, singing some over-the-top Motown number that brings down the house within the first twenty seconds.

Still, she hovers in the shadows, praying to all that's holy that no one finds her. Her eyes dart around the room and she catches Brittany watching her, part confused and part concerned, but she can't concentrate on that right now. Quinn pretty much looks at her with the same confusion, but there's no concern. Not when she has a large glass of something cold and rum-based in her hands as she dances beside Artie's wheelchair.

She doesn't dare relax, not until they've left. But she feels herself starting to the more and more time she spends inside without being seen.

And perhaps that's not a good idea because seconds after she's started to get comfortable, Rachel marches over to their table to give her signature rendition of Don't Rain On My Parade.

Seconds after that, huge, bucket-sized hands are clasping around her shoulder and gathering her up into a familiar embrace.

Despite herself, she can't help but smile.

The confusion of the others gets lost in shouts of "What are you doing here?", "Where's your grandma?" and "Look how pretty you got!"

/.../

She's known him for longer than she can remember to the point where her memories of him and this place are seamless. She has no idea where they begin and they're just there, engrained in her mind. She's not even sure how she's related to him, or if she's related to him _at all_, but she calls him Uncle Frank anyway because it's the only name she has for him.

He leads her over to the bar, ignoring the interested glances of her friends for a moment, to make her presence known to the others behind the bar. Aunt Dena, Sal and Jackie greet her warmly and she forgets about the others behind her as she exchanges old jokes and banter with them, kissing and hugging everyone like she would any other visit.

It takes a while for her to remember that this isn't any other visit and when she does she turns sharply to look at her friends. They've stopped singing and have started staring, looking confused to why anyone would want to talk to her unless they had to.

/.../

The bar empties out and, once everyone's introduced, Uncle Frank keeps the bar open a little longer, letting Rachel and the others make full use of his stage. He turns off the sound equipment and just lets them use the jukebox as a backing track, but it makes it easier for Santana to talk to him and Aunt Dena without Kurt reverberating show tunes off the walls.

Brittany sits beside her and listens intently, but remains quiet. It looks like she wants to ask questions and she almost does a few times until her brow screws up in frustration and she stops herself.

It's not until they've lapsed into a companionable silence, as the night wears slowly into morning, that Brittany actually speaks. It makes Santana jump because she realizes that she hasn't heard Brittany talk all day, probably not since their moment in the kitchen the night before.

It's Uncle Frank that prompts it.

"So, Cookie," he says, and everyone frowns at the affectionate term of endearment. Puck sniggers a little. "This her?" he asks, nodding his head towards the blond that sits opposite him. Panic flares in Santana's body, misunderstanding what he means for something much larger. Her mouth opens and closes, looking for an answer, and she closes her eyes as he goes on. "Is this the infamous Brittany?"

Santana opens her eyes as her face tightens with embarrassment. She looks away, to where Brittany worries her hands together on her lap, clicking the joints. She nods a little and then looks at him.

Uncle Frank smiles fondly and shakes his head in disbelief as he watches the unfamiliar young girl across from him, his gray hair glimmering in the moonlight that licks through the window.

"What?" Brittany says softly as he looks at her. The sound of her voice is soothing in all the best ways.

The man just keeps laughing, staring at her like he can't believe what he's seeing. Brittany smiles at it and Santana's heart leaps.

"The way she used to talk about you, I thought it would be impossible but," he looks at Santana and shakes his head. "You're just as pretty as she always said you were."

The color flushes from her cheeks and, even when Brittany's smiling knowingly beside her, Santana can't find it in herself to look anyone in the eye.

/.../

They get home at six am and promise to return again before the week is out. Uncle Frank promises them a free dinner as long as she can promise that the stupid mohawked boy won't try out his ridiculous fake ID again.

Everyone goes straight to bed, basking the house in a calm silence instantly. Quinn settles herself into the couch and Santana smiles to herself a little when she asks Artie to join her. She watches them slowly snuggling closer on the couch as she gets herself a glass of water. Her eyebrows raise at Quinn when their eyes meet as she walks past them on her way upstairs. Quinn blushes and turns away, ignoring her friend's knowing smirk.

Santana's laughing to herself and wandering back up to her room when she runs straight into another body and realizes quickly that there's only one other person staying on this floor that isn't Quinn. Her heart jumps a little and she instinctively reaches over to turn on a light, caught quickly off guard when lips press chastely to hers before she can get to the switch.

When low light finally surrounds them, Brittany blushes realizing what she just did. Santana can't stop her curious smile.

Brittany giggles, low and awkward. "I thought you were..."

"No..." Santana shakes her head. "I didn't want you to fall down the stairs and hurt yourself or something, so I was..."

"Yeah," Brittany says uncomfortably, unable to keep eye contact.

"I'm... I liked it anyway," she admits.

Brittany blushes again, and Santana hates how things have taken ten steps back to a week ago when they were almost making out in Nashville, or even before that when Brittany was leaning into her driver's window and giving her a hundred bucks to come on the trip. They don't feel like the two people who were making love two mornings ago anymore and she hates that. So she tries to cling to it, even though it's not there anymore, and leans forward to kiss Brittany again, deepening it slowly, tongue parting her lips and hands wrapping around Brittany's waist.

She's a little shocked when Brittany removes them and pulls away, smiling softly. She's not sure if Brittany's ever refused one of her kisses before.

"Night, Santana," she whispers, before she disappears into her room.

Santana watches after her until the door closes, then stands still for another five minutes trying to figure out what's going on.

She barely sleeps, staying awake trying to think of things that she can do.

/.../

It happens again the next afternoon when they're upstairs getting changed to head into the pool. Brittany gets a little lost and walks into Santana's room, just as she's exiting it, and they collide, limbs tangling and bodies stumbling. Santana takes the leap instinctively and moans a little at the taste of Brittany's lips, but Brittany does the same thing she did the night before and pulls away before it can go any further.

Then it happens twice while the others are getting take-out. Brittany gives her the same look she would give her when she was dating Artie, torn between two different ideals, and Santana takes the leap and draws her in easily, making the decision for her. Brittany pulls away and tries to speak, but Santana shakes her head and tugs her in again, kissing her madly. She hears the sounds of her friends before it can go any further and the creases in Brittany's brow grow deeper the harder she thinks.

Brittany spends their entire fourth morning in Key West avoiding her and deliberately goes to the beach with the others when she discovers that Santana's heading somewhere else with Quinn and Artie. Later that evening, she runs into Brittany coming out of her bedroom and watches as she stares and struggles for a few moments before she attempts to squeeze past Santana to get back downstairs.

Santana grabs her by the waist before she can move any further and lets her face soften. Brittany tries her hardest to squeeze past her, her smile strained as she pretends that nothing's wrong, but it's futile when Santana's eyes plead with her to stay.

"Please," she mumbles so that no one can hear the commotion. They're all down on the deck getting ready for another cook out anyway, but, still, she keeps her voice low to a strangled whisper. "Please, Britt."

Brittany tries her hardest not to give in and Santana would almost believe she doesn't want it if it wasn't for the yearning in her eyes. She protests until the last second, until she's collapsing into Santana and kissing her frantically. Their faces squash together and when Brittany pulls away and disappears downstairs, it takes Santana a second to realize that she's pressed flat against the wall with her bra undone.

She sits on her bed for twenty minutes after, trying to remember how to breathe.

/.../

It started on the second night they were in Key West. She couldn't sleep again and, when she walked downstairs to get a drink, she discovered that Quinn couldn't either, so they just spent their time in the kitchen not talking about things.

When Finn started snoring, Artie slowly migrated to the house with the intention of sleeping on the couch, while Puck followed with the intention of finding himself a bed to share. When Santana threatened him castration if he tried it, the four of them sat around the kitchen drinking the beers Santana had been keeping under her bed, and playing lazy games of cards.

By the fifth night, it's serious business and, even though she's tired, she makes her way to the kitchen to find Puck already dealing her hand. Quinn's sipping something from a glass and Santana eyes it wearily, knowing that there's one other reason why she's here other than to kick Puck's ass.

Lately, she finds herself wondering if she's the only one that sees what's going on.

Especially when Artie sees her looking, and glances back like he sees it too.

/.../

Finn and Rachel have an argument at breakfast the morning of the sixth day. It's their fifth since yesterday (she lost count before that) and Santana groans at the way the days get worse instead of getting better. Kurt and Blaine aren't much different, emerging from their room earlier than most and not talking as they eat their breakfast. Mike and Tina live in their own tiny bubble pretending that no one else is there, while Mercedes and Sam slowly distance themselves from each other with every passing day.

Santana decides to stay behind when they all disappear off to the beach, kind of glad when Artie and Quinn decide to do the same.

She makes another mental reminder to wonder when the pair of them became a package deal, even though she's not sure she cares anymore. Artie's actually more tolerable than rest of them.

"Are you ever going to unpack your bags?" Quinn asks when she trips over the handle of one of Santana's bags as she walks into her room. Artie's downstairs watching TV while they get ready. They've somehow managed to convince her to accompany them to Hemingway House to avoid the others.

Santana shrugs. "I am unpacking."

"You're removing things as you wear them."

"Exactly," she smirks. "Unpacking."

Quinn groans and pushes her out the way, ignoring the fact that she's only wearing her underwear, bra and shirt. "Hey, I was looking for something!" she scoffs as she flops back onto her bed. "Jeez, mom."

She stiffens at Santana's words and Santana watches as she takes in a deep breath and continues unpacking Santana's bags for her. Cogs start turning in Santana's mind and she watches as Quinn piles things into the dresser and hangs things up in the wardrobe effortlessly. She pushes it all away, not wanting to jump to conclusions and takes the pair of cut-offs in Quinn's hands and tugs them up her legs.

"Do you wear anything else?" Quinn rolls her eyes. Santana just shakes her head.

/.../

"Santana?"

She's got her eyebrow pencil in her hand when Quinn finds her standing in front of the huge mirror in her bathroom.

"What's this?" Quinn asks and Santana doesn't look away from the mirror, just leans a little closer to check in the reflection. Her brow furrows at the old wooden cigar box gingerly held between Quinn's fingers. "You weren't really serious about smoking cigars were you?" she asks and Santana can't help the little smile that quirks at her lips.

It falls instantly when it dawns on her what Quinn's holding. It'd been in her hands the night she went for dinner with Brittany and her grandma and then she completely forgot about it once she got to the car. With Brittany kissing her that furiously, it had been hard to remember her own name, let alone a stupid old box. She recaps her eyebrow pencil and turns around, reaching for it.

"It's not cigars," she says as she takes it from Quinn's hands and holds it in her own.

She knows what's in it already, but she can't help refreshing her memory. Quinn sits beside her, intrigued by everything Santana hands her. The camera, a couple of rolls of film for it, the pieces of paper covered in alarm codes and instructions that her father had already written down for her anyway. Quinn tries grab the roll of twenties tucked into the corner but Santana slaps her hand away, pocketing it. Quinn just laughs and moves on, grabbing the pictures of a baby Santana tucked inside her grandma's address book.

"Look at all those curls!" Quinn squeals.

"Leave me alone," Santana smirks and rolls her eyes. She's too busy hooking all the bundles of keys in the box onto one of her fingers to count them.

Quinn tugs on them and frowns. "What are all those for?"

Santana thumbs through them, looking at the multicolored tags labeled with her grandmother's handwriting. She reels them off in her head: key to the garage, key to all the balcony doors upstairs, another set for the front and back doors, a set for her grandpa's workshop where they keep the washer and dryer (which is good, because she really needs to do some laundry) and another set she doesn't recognize.

She thinks back to what her grandma says and, as she realizes what they're for, a strange, unwanted curiosity washes over her. She turns to Quinn before tentatively getting up and crossing over to the closet.

/.../

"What is that?" Quinn asks once they've finally made it to the back. It had taken her half an hour of lifting out boxes of records, clothes, books, movies and photo albums, and moving them into the bedroom before she could even find space to put her feet. Now she stands surrounded by more clothes from at least six different decades and she's only just caught a peek of what she's looking for.

She cleans away the dust, making sure she doesn't inhale anymore than she already has. She remembers seeing this once when the closet was less cluttered and more lived in. There used to be a dressing table in the corner and her grandma's jewelery used to hang off the sides of the mirror in a huge bundle. Half of the things that surround her now aren't meant to be in this room. They're memories of her childhood, locked and hidden away to clear room for the vacationers that now fill the only place she'll ever feel proud to call her home.

She sighs. "It's a safe. It's what the last key is for."

Quinn moves closer and almost topples her over when she gets her foot caught on a loose piece of carpet. "What kind of safe that big has a key?"

Santana wants to snap something smart at her, but she smiles instead. "My grandpa was really shitty at remembering numbers," she says fondly. "Grandma obviously never got rid of it. To be honest, I don't think he ever used this one. There's another one downstairs in his study."

Quinn nods, listening to the story and gripping Santana's shoulders to avoid falling over. "So, why are we here then?"

Santana thinks about the question for a minute and finds that she doesn't know.

The anticipation feels uncomfortable and heavy. She feels wrong opening it without her grandmother's reassurance that it's okay, like she shouldn't be opening it without her there. She turns the keys in her hands like they're a detonator to a bomb, ready to go off at any second as Quinn watches. She wants to open it but she doesn't at the same time. She's curious to see what's in there, considering how much it intrigued her as a kid, but it feels like there's some kind of Pandora's box problem going on. She has no idea what she's going to let free.

"My grandma said there was important stuff in here."

"So, open it," Quinn says softly like it's the obvious solution to the unsaid problem.

Santana turns to her sceptically and lets her brow furrow. She's not sure. "I can't remember if she said it was okay for me to open it yet."

"Do it anyway," Quinn urges impatiently. "I'm not climbing back in here and lugging all those boxes back out again. Just open it and pretend you didn't if there's things you're not meant to see."

Santana looks at her again and then back to the safe. She raises her hand and poises the key at the lock, slipping it in and turning quickly. Like a band aid, she thinks as she glares at Quinn's excited intake of breath when the tiny metal door creaks open and turns back nervously.

In the end, it's kind of disappointing. There's no gold or guns or secret family heirlooms. Just envelopes.

She reaches out to take one, narrowing her eyes to look at the front.

"_Last Will and Testament of Elena Isabella Gonzales Garcia de Lopez_," Quinn reads quietly. "_Open in the event of death_," she goes on and Santana notices that the address of their family lawyer is printed in the corner. The finality and formality of it makes her feel kind of nervous and upset.

She puts it back in the safe and pulls out the next thing she sees, handing it to Quinn over her shoulder while she takes another that has her name scrawled on the front. Quinn waits and watches as Santana pulls out the wad of cash contained in her own envelope, before she tips the contents into her hand and frowns at another set of keys that now sits in her palm.

"Holy crap," Santana mutters, instantly forgetting that her grandmother's just given her ten thousand dollars in hundreds. "They're for Grandma's car," she hisses excitedly. "Give me those before anyone sees," she says and buries them deep into the pocket of her jeans. "Is there anything else in there?"

Quinn reaches forward and pulls out the last envelope. She looks up, just in time to see Quinn's eyes grow wide with shock and her mouth fall open in a gasp. Santana turns and knocks down a few boxes, grabbing the extra large and bulbous envelope into her hands. It's squashy and, as soon as she peers inside, her expression mirrors Quinn's when she realizes what's inside.

/.../

They tell Artie, but only because the pair of them aren't really sure what they're meant to do with what they've found.

To be honest, Santana's not sure why they would ask him, of all people, but she trusts Quinn and watches carefully as Quinn hands him the envelope. His eyes grow almost as big as the frames of his glasses when he looks up at them and, for a second, Santana thinks he might puke.

"Is that what I think it is?" he says nervously. His grip on the envelope wavers, like he's not sure if he wants to clutch it close to his chest or throw it across the room. "I mean..." he peers inside again. "It smells like what I think it is and looks like what I think it is... my cousin had some once... I mean..."

Quinn rushes to sit beside him, resting her hands on his arms as she takes the envelope from him. Santana assumes that something this bad ass is too much for him to handle and takes the chair opposite him at the kitchen table, pulling the envelope to her to look at it again.

"Where did you guys even get that from?" he asks, a little calmer.

Quinn strokes her fingers over his hands and looks to Santana, probably checking to see if it's okay to tell him. Santana just stares back, so she goes on. "Santana's grandma," is all Quinn says, but it's enough to make him freak out again.

He looks like he's ready to have a damn panic attack. "Oh my god," he pants. "We're going to be in so much trouble if she finds out."

Quinn goes back to trying to console him. Santana would go as far to say he's faking so that Quinn touches him, but he actually looks green. She scoffs at him because, really? How uncool can one person be? She shakes her head.

"Can you, like, stopping being a total loser for a second," she asks, as politely as she can. "It's not like we're stealing it; I'm pretty sure this is why she gave me the keys to the safe in the first place. She said there was something better than anything we could get back home and, well," she shrugs. "I'm guessing that she doesn't just want us to look at it."

They both look at her like she's crazy and search her up and down to make sure that she's not kidding or lying.

"Are you serious?" they say at the same time and, for a second, Santana's actually sure they're the same person. They both smirk at each other while Santana's face contorts into disgust.

"If you're serious," Artie mutters quietly. "That's kind of the coolest thing I've ever heard."

Santana feels a surge of pride and feels a little cooler because of her grandmother. She's kind of turning this trip into a huge hunk of awesome without even being there. Santana's got more cash than she knows what to do with, the keys to a vintage car and an entire house and its facilities at her disposal. The gift of over a half a pound of weed kind of turns her into the coolest grandmother in the world. Fuck book tokens and hand-knitted sweaters.

She shrugs at Artie's words, though. "She always has been kind of a hippie," she explains as she thinks about it.

She instantly remembers all the _Fleetwood Mac_they would listen to over the summer that she soon became obsessed with the older she got. She thinks about all those trippy records with no names that would be oozing through the house, like hot, sticky honey, from morning until night throughout her summers. She remembers the flickers of the dozens of candles that would litter the house instead of using electricity to mellow the tone. Her parents hated it, her grandfather tolerated it, but Santana was always kind of intrigued by the freedom her grandmother was always trying to fill her life with.

It's Quinn speaking up that knocks her out of her daydreaming. "What are we going to do with it?" she asks, quiet and excited and intrigued. Artie mirrors her expression and takes her hand, not caring that Santana can see.

/.../

They put their Hemingway House trip on hold in order to spend the entire afternoon thinking through what they could do with the goldmine of opportunity put before them.

Luckily, they hear the others returning before they barge in unannounced and Santana darts around the kitchen for a minute, looking for a place to stash their swag, until Quinn grabs it and shoves it in the pantry.

It feels pointless when the others avoid the kitchen completely and head straight to the pool, but Puck and Brittany wander in a few minutes after Finn's done his first cannonball and they feel a little better. Well, they feel better about the weed. Santana suddenly doesn't feel good at all when Brittany's looking down at her feet and muttering a timid "hi" to the room.

"You got anything to eat, Lopez?" Puck asks and Santana's too busy worrying about Brittany that she almost moves out of the way of the door to let him into the pantry. Quinn and Artie both make little noises to stop her though and she jumps, frantically shaking her head.

"No," she says dumbly, watching Quinn and Artie panic and cringe behind Puck. She also notices Brittany watching the scene, quietly knowing.

Puck gives her a disbelieving look before he scoffs at her. "If you don't want us eating all your food, Lopez, just say it. I've got enough money of my own to buy me some chips and dip, but if you're gonna be like that then fine. Be like that. I don't need your food. Just know that you're being harsh."

Santana looks from Puck, to Quinn, to Artie, to Brittany who's folded her arms under her chest as her brain begins to whir with recognition. Santana panics and her eyes go wide as she forces her brain to work. "DINNER!" she shouts making all three of them jump. She shakes her head and silently tells herself to calm down before she slaps on her best bitch glare.

"Huh?" Puck says.

"Dinner," she says sounding a lot more like herself. "You're not having anything to eat because I'm about to start making dinner." At his further expression of disbelief she nods. "That's right, Puckerman. I'm making you ungrateful bitches some food. So go sit your ass down because there's no way you're going to spoil you appetite for this meal."

He buys it but she can tell that Brittany doesn't. Santana notices the way she eyes the door to the pantry wearily before exiting the kitchen behind Puck. She watches her walk back outside to the other through the window, stares and makes sure she doesn't share any of the ideas she probably has in her head, and doesn't look away until Brittany's peeling off her t-shirt to reveal long expanses of sun-kissed skin and beautiful bikini-covered curves. She has enough to handle today without being reminded of her raging sexual frustration.

Her hands find the edges of the counter easily and she leans over as her heart beats furiously. "That was close," she mutters.

There's silence in the room before Quinn makes a sound of frustration. It causes Santana to turn and look at her, finding that Artie's doing the same. She looks up at them and clicks her tongue.

"I can't believe I didn't think of it before," she explains without giving them any clue what she's talking about. "Puck," she says pointing out of the window. "He'll know exactly what to do with that stuff."

Santana looks at her unconvinced before flashing her eyes to Artie. He looks like he wants to argue the point but doesn't know how because he knows that she's right. Puck is their only option to finding out how to have the best time. Santana softens as she gives in.

"So, what do we do?" she says.

Quinn picks up the apron screwed up on the counter and tosses it at her. "We make these bitches a damn meal and stay quiet."

/.../

Dinner keeps Puck quiet from asking anymore questions. It shuts everyone up as they all look at each other, confused by the fact that Santana can actually cook. Even Berry comments on how impressed she is that Santana knows how to cook for vegans too. As much as it should offend her, it makes her feel a little bit lighter.

The only person that doesn't comment is Brittany, and just from the way that she's looking at her, Santana knows that she's figured out something's going on.

/.../

That's proved later when, as she tip-toes out to the hall to go downstairs for their nightly poker game, she finds Brittany standing in the doorway of her room.

She doesn't say anything, just looks at her in that way that manages to coax anything from Santana.

"I was... we've been playing poker," she whispers in case prying ears are listening. Still Brittany doesn't say anything. Santana struggles to find the right words. "Do you... want to come?" she says before she coughs a little and makes herself a little clearer. "Do you want to join in?"

Brittany smiles a little and steps forward, letting Santana lead her downstairs.

/.../

"But..." Quinn starts when she sees Brittany. "What about..."

Brittany frowns before Santana can say anything. "What about what?"

Santana turns to her carefully. "You remember when we went for dinner with my grandma and she gave me that box?" Brittany nods quickly. "Well, me and Quinn used the key to the safe she gave me and found something."

"Is it freaky?" Puck asks as he and Artie hand out the beers.

Quinn rolls her eyes at him and opens up the door to the pantry.

"Not quite."

/.../

"Holy shit," Puck shouts once he's looked inside the envelope. Santana, Artie and Quinn all jump to quieten him as Brittany stares on confused.

Santana smacks him upside the head. "Do you want everyone on this damn island to know?" she hisses. "Just tell us what we should to do with it."

Brittany takes the envelope from him and furrows her brow. "I don't get it. Your grandma gave you weed? What for?"

Puck looks at her. "Wait? Hold up. How the heck do you know what weed is?"

Brittany snorts at him and looks at the others. "I'm not an idiot," she says and Puck looks at her condescendingly until Santana punches him in the arm. "Plus, my mom's from Amsterdam. Of course I know what weed is. Not that she's ever let me try any. She says I'm bad enough already."

They all look at her until Quinn breaks the silence. "Anyway," she says. "Are you going to tell us what we're meant to do with it or not?"

"You should sell it!" Puck says loudly, before they all hush him again. "What? I'm sorry but you could make at least a couple of thousand bucks."

Santana takes the wad of cash from the other envelope and waves it at him. "I don't need a couple thousand bucks," she says. "Just tell us what the heck we're supposed to do with it. I mean, do you know what is it?"

"What's in it for me?" Puck says, narrowing his eyes. "I'm no fool. I won't give you all my info for nuthin'. I want a cut."

Santana scoffs. "Fine. You can join us on our journey into the mythical beyond, but can you please tell us the freaking directions to get there."

Puck smirks and Santana can already feel the good times approaching.

/.../

They barricade all the doors and draw the curtains, so that no one can see in, before Puck empties the contents of the envelope onto the table. The smell hits them instantly and Santana leans back at the unfamiliarity of it.

"This is good shit," Puck says as he holds some up to his nose. "I used to help Ryerson bag up for his buyers on Sunday afternoons and I'm ninety percent sure that old geezer was just giving people dried up basil and hay. This stuff looks good. Really good. I bet it's gonna be strong too. If I were you, I'd put this in some brownies or some shit, just to test it. And then, if it's as good as I think it is, then I'd smoke it."

"How much do you think there is?" Artie asks, but his face worries like he's not sure if he's asking the right things. "I mean, how long will it take for all five of us to smoke it?"

Puck laughs under his breath. "Let's just put it this way: there's a lot of doobies to be had here." He looks up at Santana. "Are you really just gonna let the five of us smoke it?" he asks. "You're not going to let the others have some too?"

"How will that aid our plans to smoke it and forget they exist?" Quinn says before she can answer.

Santana looks at her and wonders if that's really why she wants to do this so badly, or if maybe there's something else she wants to forget. That thought disappears when she feels a foot brush her ankle and looks up to find Brittany's pink cheeks and blue eyes pleading silently at her. She forgets everything then and all she can think about is another day not spent with Brittany less than three feet away and watching her smile again. She knows nothing good will happen if things keep falling apart and this might fix them.

"I don't know," she says softly, not looking away from Brittany. "I've always wondered what it would be like to see Rachel Berry high off her ass." She turns to Quinn and shrugs. "It could be funny," she says. "She might think she can fly and jump off the roof or something."

A look passes between them that Santana doesn't understand the meaning of, but she knows she doesn't have to. She begs silently until Quinn is reluctantly nodding as Artie grabs her hand excitedly. Santana turns to Brittany and smiles, glad when she smiles back.

"Let's play poker," she says feeling better than she's done in days. Brittany claps her hands in excitement and, together, she and Puck begin stowing away the weed back in the plastic lined envelope.

She's halfway to the fridge to get more beers when Puck splutters on a mouthful of the one he's already got. She's ready to chastise him for making a mess, towel in hand and arm drawn back to throw it at him, but all words fail to leave her mouth when she spins turns and sees what he's looking at. It's a photograph and curiosity spikes in her easily.

"Did you know this was in here?" he asks when he sees her looking. She shakes her head and moves closer to take a better look. A low, dirty laugh leaves Puck and reminds her of a time not so long ago when that sound meant that she would be safe for a little while longer. Now it just makes her skin crawl, so she shoves him in the arm and takes the small piece of glossed paper from between his fingers. "It was tucked at the bottom of the envelope. Grammy was a naughty girl, huh?"

She has no idea what he's talking about, but the minute she sees the picture, she understands. It makes her stomach sink and she kinda wants to hide it away when Brittany and Quinn move to stand behind her. It's black and white and of a woman, probably no older than they are, laying naked on a bed with her legs spread apart suggestively. One hand rests on her breast, the other on the pillow behind her head tangled in her wild hair and she's smiling like she doesn't have another care in the world. The rest of the photo looks old, really old by Santana's standards. It looks like a hotel room, all wooden shutters and white walls, and the décor seems to be fitting of the fifties.

It would be kind of a cool picture if it was found in any other location and in any other circumstances. Instead, it feels like this was the one thing she was meant, but didn't want, to find. She holds it at arms length and tries her hardest not to think of every possibility, every reason for it being in the bag of weed her grandmother gave to her. She tries to tell herself that it's a mistake, that it's an accident that it's there, but she doesn't have the strength to believe herself.

Brittany's hand moves to stroke at her elbow when she hasn't spoken for a while. Instantly, Santana snaps out of it and shakes her head.

"That's not my grandma," she says blankly, slipping the image into her pocket. The others look at her worriedly but she ignores them and resumes replenishing their empty beers.

/.../

Brittany is the only one that follows her upstairs that night. Quinn remains downstairs with Artie again, watching old reruns and giggling. They pause outside Santana's bedroom and Brittany smiles as she points back downstairs.

"They're kind of cute together," she says and Santana looks where she's pointing before nodding her head softly.

Santana smiles. "Not jealous?"

Brittany's face furrows and she shakes her head. "Why would I be?" she says and Santana takes in a deep breath.

"Stay with me tonight," she mumbles softly, hand reaching out to grab Brittany's wrist when her body turns to head away. She half expects Brittany to pull away and shake her head like she has been doing. She doesn't. Instead, she tangles their fingers together and brings the back of Santana's hand to her lips. She kisses there once before shaking her head and releasing her grip all together.

"I'm tired, Santana," she says softly and there's more meaning behind the words than there should be.

/.../

It's a simple plan, really, but what else could it be if Puck came up with it?

He leads the others to the beach like any other day they've had in Key West and winks at Santana, Quinn and Brittany as they remain in the kitchen.

The second that the coast is clear, Artie wheels into the room with Santana's laptop, searching the internet for the recipe they might need.

Santana spends half the morning driving around the island with Quinn finding everything they need while trying to look inconspicuous. It's probably one of the most ridiculous things she's ever done, but it's fun – more fun than she's had in the past few days – and it feels good to know that Brittany's back at the house waiting for her.

/.../

Their afternoon is spent preparing everything and turning the ingredients into what she's sure are the best brownies she's ever going to eat.

Brittany giggles as she pours the mixture into the baking tins that Quinn passes her before Artie wheels them to the oven. Her arms are covered in flour and there's a smudge of chocolate on her nose Santana wants to flick away.

"What?" Santana says, just happy to hear her laughter.

Brittany smirks. "I'm just thinking that this is probably the only recipe that'll make sense to me."

/.../

It all goes to plan. Puck comes back and goes with the plan, pretending to ask them if they want to go to this club he saw the other day. They play along and agree, trying to hide their smirks as the others head out to the pool like usual.

"Did you bake them?" Puck whispers once they're all outside. Brittany nods excitedly and Santana smiles when Quinn has to hold her by the shoulders to calm her down.

"Awesome!" he says, fist-bumping Artie. "Because, guess what? The club? I walked past there earlier to get something to eat... it's a fucking Neon party there tonight. Glowsticks, laser lights, fucking glow in the dark paint! I'm telling you, this shit is a gift from God himself."

He whoops as he runs after the others to the pool. Santana looks at the others and snorts. Quinn doesn't stop Brittany when she starts bouncing up and down again while Artie grins like an idiot. Quinn just leans against the counter with a smirk on her face.

"Well," she breathes. "At lest I know what I'm wearing tonight."

/.../

"What do you guys do all day why the rest of us are at the beach?" Puck says. It's another planned line and Brittany's cheeks puff as she struggles to swallow her pizza from trying not to laugh.

Quinn tosses her crust back onto her plate and it's kind of cute how Artie reaches over and takes it to eat it himself. Quinn smiles a little as she shrugs and glares. "We keep ourselves amused," she says and Santana covers her hand with her mouth to stop herself from laughing at the look on Quinn's face.

"Like what?" Finn says. "There's like... nothing to do in this house."

Rachel pats him on the arm. "Leave them alone, Finn," she says. "Some people are just more easily amused and unsociable than others. It's their decision if they choose not to make the most of their vacation."

"Today we made brownies," Quinn cuts through her, venom rippling through her words. "For dessert."

Finn practically jumps in his seat and the others all look impressed too. Santana looks at Brittany to see her sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes flick to Santana's for a moment before she averts them quickly with a smile. Maybe it's not a good thing to drug their friends with baked goods, but it's sure as hell a lot more fun than talking to them.

"Why don't we all get ready and have dessert before we leave?" Artie smiles and Santana's instantly impressed by the blase way he observes the others around him. "That way we'll have a little something extra lining our stomach for when we're drinking."

Santana rolls her eyes at him but the others all agree and go to get changed while the four left behind begin to clear the table.

"Piece of cake," Santana mutters.

Quinn nods. "Literally."

She breaks a dish when she drops it from laughing so hard.

/.../

"Oh, no. None for me," Rachel says when Quinn goes straight for her when she begins passing around the brownies. "I'm watching my figure. I'm well aware of how people can easily let themselves go while on vacation and I won't let that happen to me. Plus, I don't eat anything that's packaging I haven't studied carefully to assure that it follows all my dietary guidelines."

"It's fine, Rachel," Brittany pipes up with one of her most innocent smiles. "We followed all your guidlines to make sure that you can eat the brownies, too."

Santana steps up with the second plate and waves them in Rachel's face. "Yeah, Berry. You better eat up or we'll be offended. These bad boys have all the nourishment you're ever going to need."

/.../

It's weirder than anything she's ever felt. It must be something to do with the fresh air she gets on the walk to the club, but the effect of the weed in the brownies is a build up that slowly makes her limbs feel like they're lighter than they've ever felt. It's something she expected, but she never thought that she'd be able to feel so much while feeling so little at the same time.

"Wow," Brittany says as she walks into the club beside her and all Santana can do is nod and agree as they head to the bar.

/.../

Half an hour later, she's covered in neon paint with about a million different glow sticks hanging off her body. She feels more drunk than anything else but her body tingles in a way that she knows has nothing to do with what she's been drinking. It's warm and fuzzy and her eyes feel heavy as she dances with Brittany and Quinn, Artie nearby, spinning in his wheelchair.

She hasn't felt this good in months, even though her heart is pounding in her chest and her mouth feels like it's made of cotton. She drinks more and more to fight away the dryness but it doesn't work. Brittany steps up close to her, her front pressing against Santana's back, and her body starts moving in ways that she's never let it move before. It feels softer and smoother, and she's panting into Brittany's neck as the music throbs through her before she realizes.

The lights look so bright, but Brittany's eyes look brighter as she smiles lazily and watches at her. She looks magical, like an angel or a goddess, like she's been sent straight from heaven, and Santana touches her cheek and marvels at the way that it feels softer than ever before, the way that Brittany shivers and instinctively moves closer.

Her eyes, red and glassy already, flicker over every inch of Santana's body that she can see but Santana doesn't care, she just watches the way pinks and oranges and greens refract in Brittany's blue eyes from the light above to make brand new colors. She doesn't stop until Brittany's leaning down and running her tongue against the sweat that pools against her collarbones because then all she can do is moan and notice the ache between her legs. It pulsates with the rhythm of the music, just like Brittany's tongue. It feels amazing and she wonders how much more amazing that tongue would feel in better places.

"Britt..." she mutters, holding Brittany close. She tries to bring their mouths together, inhibitions lost easily as she wraps an arm around Brittany's neck. Brittany shakes her head and pulls away, though, smirking as she moves to dance back where Artie and Quinn are. Santana groans and follows after her.

She doesn't give up. She tries again because all she wants to know is what Brittany's tongue would feel like against her own right now, if it tastes numb like hers feels. She wants to know if it's hot or cold, if her mouth has gone dry too. She just wants to know if this is what she's meant to be feeling.

The more Brittany doesn't let her, the more she wants it.

/.../

They leave the club earlier than expected when Puck comes and finds them, informing them that Berry got kicked out. There's no time to ask why but, when they step outside and Finn's topless and Rachel's wearing his shirt over her bra and panties, it all comes together.

Santana starts laughing and finds that she can't stop.

/.../

"I promise I've hardly drunk anything at all," Rachel repeats as Finn, Sam and Puck have to carry her home, holding her like a Queen on a throne through the streets of Old Key West. "I don't know why I'm acting like this."

It's not until they bring her back into the house that Santana laughs and lets slip the truth. "Berry, you're stoned..." she chuckles. "You're all high off your asses."

/.../

They take the fact that they've been drugged surprisingly well, but how else would they take it when this stuff practically makes them feel like they've swallowed a cloud. Santana finally takes the bottles of liquor hidden in her car inside the house and pours everyone a drink and watches as the party revs up again when they eat the leftover brownies, not caring what they contain.

Rachel's in her underwear again within twenty minutes. Puck gets shirtless, just because. It's insane how free the weed makes Santana feel and she dances to the music, not caring how ridiculous she looks. Eyes closed, her body sways just like it did in the club until she opens her eyes sensing another set burning into her. Brittany looks hungry and Santana would offer to make her something if the only thing she looked like she had the munchies for was her. She keeps their eyes locked and moves her body, hands running beneath her top to touch her stomach.

She just wants to touch something, anything. But, most of all, she wants to touch Brittany.

/.../

Rachel spins in circles, eyes up at the ceiling. Finn follows after her, staring at her ass in her surprisingly small underwear, trying to grab hold of her.

"It looks like pink!" Rachel says dreamily and it kinda looks like she's doing the same thing the nun in the sound of music does on the mountain top. "It looks like PINK!"

Santana watches her and doesn't know what Rachel's talking about. She's not sure if Rachel does either, but she sits on the couch beside Artie and Quinn making out and laughs for no reason at all wondering when the tears will come.

/.../

Clothing is lost without preamble. Brittany's in her t-shirt, underwear and knee high socks without anyone even noticing. Half the guys have either lost their shirts or their pants and no one argues at all when Rachel stands on the table and shouts "LET'S PLAY SPIN THE BOTTLE!" before diving into the pool.

In fact they all holler in agreement and cannonball in after her.

/.../

Santana's pretty sure that it's against the rules to play spin the bottle in a swimming pool – or that it becomes a different game entirely – but somehow they make it work.

Puck finds an old water bottle and he makes them all wade around in a circle shape like synchronised swimmers as he tries to make it work. It's really hard when Finn keeps forgetting how to swim and Sam has to stop him from drowning every few minutes.

It's kind of clumsy at first, but it's funny. Santana hasn't played spin the bottle since she was about thirteen and it's just as ridiculous as she remembers it. She's kind of happy to be doing it now, though. She doesn't even think about hiding herself or having to pretend that she's something she is or isn't. The weed makes all of them into entirely different people with new personalities. She feels happy and calm. She doesn't care what people think of her, so she smiles and watches as the bottle spins and skims badly atop the rippling water, waiting to see where it stops.

There's a few boring kisses first. Mike spins and the bottle lands on Tina and they use the oppportunity to practically do each other until everyone's laughing so hard that they have to stop. Then Tina gets Kurt and it's kind of an awkward kiss that no one really wants to look at. Then there's Kurt and Blaine, then Blaine and Rachel again (only tamer this time), then Rachel gets Finn (everyone calls it a fix) and then Finn lands on Mercedes (but he barely pecks her lips before he pulls away) then Mercedes gets Artie for a few prolonged pecks before Artie spins and gets Santana.

Everyone holds their breath and waits for her to refuse, but there's giggling too that abruptly stops when Santana laughs and moves closer to him.

"Come here, Abrams," she says as she tugs at the waist band of his shorts. "Let me show you how it's done."

She kisses him fully, albeit quickly. He tastes too much like boy and she hates that, through a haze of bright color and noise, she can understand what Brittany saw in him. He looks a little shocked when she pulls away, but Quinn nudges him playfully while everyone else laughs and claps. It's definitely a night like no other.

/.../

They pause while they eat the few remaining brownies. Soon, the sides of the pool are littered with empty plates and half full bottles of tequila and rum and Puck shouts that he wants a turn and spins the bottle as they all return to formation.

It lands on Tina and everyone watches uncomfortably as Tina, practically floating on her back in the water, lets him roll their tongues together languidly with a hand in her hair. Santana can't find the energy to be shocked and, instead, she laughs along with everyone else but stops when she notices the way that Quinn tenses beside Artie as they both watch the way Mike's jaw tightens. Brittany must see it too because she splashes water in their direction before slapping her hands against the water as if it were a table.

"Next turn, next turn," she says, words slurred in a sing-song.

She doesn't expect the bottle to land on who it lands on. Tina spins the bottle and Santana's only made aware of who it's landed on when Artie takes a shallow breath in next to her. She looks away from staring up at the way the stars blur together, and sees the bottle ebbing over the water but undoubtably pointing at Quinn. She holds her breath too, for too many different reasons that she can't remember (but the most obvious one twitches low in her stomach) and she darts her eyes away as the two girls awkwardly float into the middle of the pool.

Just like the day at Disneyland, it's like the pair of them are trying to one-up each other. Quinn boldly wraps her hand around Tina's cheek and Santana's eyes flicker lower when she sees Tina's hand move to grasp Quinn around the waist. Quinn smirks and Santana doesn't even have time to wonder or care where this Quinn has come from. She must be hidden deep inside of her best friend because this isn't the Quinn that Santana's familiar with. She teases at Tina's bottom lip and giggles against her mouth. It's one of the hottest things she's seen in a long time and she gulps against the dry mouth she knows shouldn't be dry after that.

"Holy shit," she breathes under her breath and her eyes only look away when she sees someone watching her from across the pool. She looks up and there's Brittany, knowing smirk plastered on her face, mischieviousness etched there too.

Something not so deep inside of her tells her she's in trouble.

/.../

It gets worse.

Quinn spins the bottle and gets Brittany. A paranoid part of Santana starts to think that they're conspiring to tease her when they both look back at her before they wrap themselves around each other. Santana's throat closes and she instinctively moves a little nearer, eyes growing heavy and cheeks turning pink. There's something about the way that Brittany's eyes flicker to her every few seconds as her tongue flicks into Quinn's mouth or the way that her hands clutch around her neck and hold her closer. That mouth should be kissing hers and she swallows thickly as she watches, wondering what it would be like to be so wet in every way with Brittany.

They pull away and Brittany locks her eyes with Santana's. She wonders if people can notice how turned on she is, if the throbbing between her legs is sending ripples through the water that everyone can feel. They feel strong enough to and she can't look away from Brittany as she laughs easily and spins the bottle.

Santana's kind of confused at how intrigued she is when Brittany's spin lands on Rachel.

She watches anyway and it's worse than Quinn. Rachel's wearing less clothes and Brittany's always been handsy if there's skin to be touched. Rachel wraps herself around her and Brittany's hands run everywhere, down her back over her shoulders. It's hot. Too hot considering that Rachel Berry's involved. The boys jeer when Brittany boldly lifts Rachel to wrap her legs around her waist with a tug at her ass and holds her in place there. Even Quinn looks like she doesn't know whether she wants to throw up or applaud. She looks around like she possibly may have entered the twilight zone, desperate for answers to what the hell is going on.

But all Santana can concentrate on is how Brittany's eyes keep opening to make sure she's watching, to see her reaction. Brittany can read her like a book and it seems it's only worse when she's got drugs in her system. She smirks against Rachel's lips as her fingers flitter down Rachel's spine to stroke at the hollow of her back.

Santana doesn't know how, but she swears she can feel it too.

It jolts something in her and she suddenly feels a lot more sober than before. She shakes her head and strokes a hand over her cheeks, desperate to wipe the blush away, before wading over to the steps and climbing out of the pool.

No one pays any attention.

/.../

She sits in the kitchen smoking one of the joints Puck made the night before and listens to the jeers of everyone still outside as Rachel kisses Sam and, even more, when Sam is forced to kiss Kurt.

She doesn't pay any attention, just tries to control the way that her heart thrums uncontrollably in her chest. She can feel her pulse everywhere, but especially where she wants to most.

/.../

She's strangely quiet and she wonders if this is the comedown. This is the part where she's meant to get upset and depressed. If so, why hasn't the aching stopped?

She can barely find it within her to yell at Puck for telling the others about their secret poker games. She's only really worried when he suggests that they up the stakes and turn it into strip poker. Everyone's almost half-naked and soaked already, so it doesn't take much to get them to agree.

Even when she's stoned and drunk and feeling everything all at once, Santana manages to beat most of them at the game. Brittany's sitting opposite her again and Santana wonders why she won't just come sit next to her, but then she thinks Brittany might just like staring at her when they're like this.

Her eyes struggle to remain staring down at her cards when half the girls in the room are nearly naked. Tina's in her bathing suit and Quinn's swaying from side to side in her bra and shorts. Rachel's wearing nothing but her panties and the urge to stare is too much. Her eyes keep flickering up to where there's so much skin, to where Finn has an arm wrapped around Rachel's chest to cover her up.

Brittany keeps watching her, eyes peering over a hand of cards and Santana can't take it anymore. Her eyes roll back into her head from the struggle.

/.../

No one sees her go upstairs except Quinn. She mumbles that she's going to bed and her best friend nods lazily as she smokes another joint with Artie, except she's only really smoking it herself because Artie blacked out about half an hour ago while they were contemplating the universe.

She makes her way to her bedroom and looks at herself in the mirror. She doesn't really look any different other than the red, lazy eyes and the goosebumps that litter her skin. It occurs to her that she's probably going to get sick if she doesn't put on some dry clothes, so she strips in front of the mirror and stares at herself for a few seconds before she dresses herself again.

Her fingers walk themselves over her stomach, over her hips and up her side. She runs the back of her knuckles down the space between her breasts. Her mind flickers with startling, almost life-like quality, as she wonders what it would be like if Brittany was touching her instead. She doesn't have to try very hard. The memories are like a movie reel that's constantly on replay. One palm rounds over her breasts like Brittany's usually do and she chokes on a gasp when she sees the other drifting to stroke over her pelvis of its own accord.

She snaps away from the mirror embarrassed and shakes herself out of it, quickly pulling up a clean pair of underwear and a t-shirt she finds on her floor. Her fingers drag through her now wavy hair and she shakes her head, deciding she can't be bothered to wash it tonight, even though the chlorine will leave her hair feeling dry for days.

She sits down on the edge of her bed and has no idea what to do.

/.../

The noise from downstairs rings in her ears and the blue light from the rising morning makes her feel mellow and sad.

She closes her curtains and lights the candles that litter grandmother's room. She covers the lone lamp that sits on her bedside table in a scarf, bathing the room in burnt reds and oranges, waiting for the yellow of the sun to break through the curtains as it rises.

Her grandmother's record collection still fills the wall of shelves at the opposite side of the room, so she flicks through them trying to find something mellow yet loud enough to drown out the laughter from downstairs.

Her fingers linger on the collection and she slips a few records onto the player, testing them out before she settles on the only thing that feels right. She turns up the volume enough to drown out the others and closes her door before she draws the curtains and pulls back the covers.

She lays down on the bed and turns onto her side, finding the joints she rolled and hid in the jewelery box on the beside table when she came up to bed the night before. She takes one out and lights it on a nearby candle, blowing it a little to keep it alight. She smokes it slowly, forming opal smoke rings into the air above her as she listens to the music and loves the way it melts her into nothingness. Her body feels soft and supple again, smooth like it could be water if she wanted it to be. She feels wet too. Wet in all the places she needs to be. The hand, not holding the joint to her mouth, taps along to the music on her stomach, stroking over her abs and pushing the fabric away from her skin when it suddenly feels too warm.

In a second, she knows exactly what to do.

/.../

It takes her a while. Her eyes flicker to the door, waiting for someone to walk in at any moment and instantly know what she's thinking of doing.

She's Santana Lopez. This is not something she does often, or even thinks of doing often. This is something that other people do for her.

Not even in that aching period of time between the day when Brittany asked her to talk about feelings to that night last week, in the hotel room where they first made love, did she give in to satisfying her own body. It's not really something she likes to do. She always feels so much guilt when she spends the entire time trying not to think of Brittany, but ending up slipping off the edge to the image of her beautiful body anyway. It's been the only thing that's worked since she was fourteen years old and she's not sure that will ever change.

But her mind is all over the place. Memories of Brittany kissing Quinn and Rachel make her hips squirm against the bed and jealousy flare in her chest. She wishes it had been her. She wishes that Brittany had been kissing her instead, pressing her lips all over her body. She wishes that Brittany had been sharing in her bed since they got here, that she was brave enough and that Brittany could fall asleep beside her, just like she'd done in Orlando and in Miami. All she wants is to have that beautifully soft, warm skin held against hers again and to wake up tangled around a body that has always fit against hers. Even when they grew, it felt like they were growing together.

Her eyes flutter closed as she thinks about Brittany who's downstairs. It's a risk, she knows that. It's wrong to touch herself to a person who hasn't wanted to touch her all week. It's wrong, but she still strokes the tips of her fingers beneath the curve of her breast anyway. She stubs out the joint on an empty glass plate on her grandmother's bedside table, usually used to sit a candle on. Her other hand comes to join the other and her fingers stroke over her body, relaxing at the way that everything feels magnified. If she thinks hard enough, her own hands could become Brittany's. She sighs and, for a minute, the hands on her are Brittany's hands. The thought makes her slip into a state of complete relaxation.

A hand drifts down the plane of her stomach easily after that; all the while, she imagines it's Brittany doing it and not her. It's Brittany that wants to ease the ache between her thighs, release the tense coil in her stomach. Her fingers stroke over her hips, dipping to tease herself beneath her waistband like Brittany's would. Her imagination finds it easy to picture Brittany above her, smirking into her mouth like she always does before kissing her neck.

Her hand is in her underwear and a finger is slipping around her clit before she can control herself. She bites her lip to stop herself from making any noise and pauses to make sure that she's still okay, before letting her finger resume its lazy movements over her sensitive skin.

It feels like a million hands are touching her and she boldly pushes her shirt up over her breasts to reveal them to the cool air of her room. Her skin tightens with the goosebumps that suddenly coat her body and she gulps to try and moisten her throat, licks over her lip as she bites harder to stop the moans she needs to release. Her back arches off the bed as her fingers tease a nipple and she can't help it anymore. A moan releases her as her finger work more furiously to ease the ache.

"Brittany..." she gasps out thoughtlessly as her head tips back, gasping for air.

It's like she's been swept up off the planet and onto another world. She forgets about getting caught and being seen. In her mind, it's just her and the Brittany of her imagination, working together to help her slip off the edge. Her eyes clench tightly together, determined to keep the allusion whole, to stave off any reminders of the real world. She's not sure if she's groaning out loud or if it's in her head. Her arm feels so weightless that it doesn't feel like she's the one doing anything at all. It's all _BrittanyBrittanyBrittany_taking over her imagination like usual.

She's ruthless in her search for release and it's not until she feels the mattress dip at her feet that anything changes.

Her eyes burst open and the illusion's over, replaced with something better.

/.../

Brittany stares at her, eyes low and wide at the same time, glazed over with what she's only ever known as want.

"Don't stop," she mumbles breathlessly and it looks like she's barely able to make her mouth work. She kneels at the foot of the bed, dressed exactly the same as she was in the pool. There's paint flecks in her hair from where she went crazy at the club. They hide beneath the curve of her jaw and down her neck. Her t-shirt clings to her body where it's still a little damp and her black underwear clings to her curves in ways that Santana's never been able to work out. She's still wearing her knee-high socks and just the sight of them, as she kneels, knees spread apart, makes Santana's fingers twitch where they still rest in her underwear.

Brittany sees it and her breath hitches, arms by her sides not knowing where to rest. "Don't stop," she says again, but it's more a plea than it is a demand. "Please, please don't stop."

Santana looks at her, face still contorted into shock. She doesn't know what to do. Being caught is the most embarrassing thing she can think of, and that truth only grows when it's Brittany who is catching her, legs spread and left hand hidden inside her underwear. But she feels no embarrassment, and she assumes that's the weed preventing her from blushing, because all she feels is relieved that Brittany's finally here. She wonders if Brittany heard her gasp out her name a few moments ago. She wonders if Brittany just knew.

"Britt Britt..." she gasps and Brittany shakes her head at her mutely.

She moves closer and Santana shifts a little until Brittany can fit her knees between her own. All Santana wants is for her to lean over her and take over but she doesn't, she just shakes her head and presses her hands to Santana's knees to spread them further apart. "Don't stop..." she says and Santana sees something flash through her eyes.

"You do it," she whispers brokenly but Brittany still shakes her head and it's just like the past five days, trying to get Brittany to kiss her. Santana wants to cry because part of her thinks that Brittany never wants to touch her again. "Please," she says, but Brittany looks at her and there's something else, something new that begs Santana to carry on.

So she does what only comes natural to her, and gives Brittany whatever she wants. Her fingers twitch and then they're moving again, rebuilding the pressure that was already there.

/.../

It feels like she's lost all sense of time. Minutes feel like hours and she has no idea how long she's been laid there, letting Brittany watch her touch herself, but she knows that it's not long enough. She kind of likes it, having Brittany being unable to look away, being able to watch Brittany's eyes as they follow her movements.

It jolts her a little, when Brittany shifts closer, hands shaking as she reaches for the hem of Santana's shirt still bunched around her chest. Santana's hands remove themselves from her underwear slowly and she reaches up to let Brittany tug the shirt from her body. Santana pauses and waits, knowing what's coming. Brittany gulps and her eyes flicker over Santana's chest, before she dips her fingers into the waistband of Santana's underwear and slowly tugs them down her legs.

Her eyes grow darker with lust and her posture withers for a second before it straightens. "Keep – Keep going," she practically growls and Santana's hands are touching herself again, moving teasingly slow. Brittany breathes out unevenly. "Inside," she says softly and Santana thinks she misheard her. "Inside," she says again. "Inside."

Santana looks at her and thinks that she's never felt this close to Brittany in her life, and they're not even touching her properly. She's never given her this much control as she does what Brittany tells her and pushes a finger inside of herself.

When Brittany moans, she knows she'll do anything just to hear it again.

/.../

She wonders if it's not right, if Brittany doesn't actually like it, if she's turned on enough. She watches Brittany and thinks that she would enjoy watching Brittany watching her more than she would watching Brittany touch herself. Her face flickers and her muscles twitch with everything she does. It's strange to have so much control over someone without even touching them, to be able to make Brittany's body do things without even trying.

She tries to figure out when Brittany's going to break and give in to touching her, just like they both know she wants to. But she doesn't, she keeps watching, with only her hands touching Santana's knees and her nails biting into her thighs.

/.../

It makes her jump and she almost comes, just from the jolt to her system, when Brittany shakes her head and moans, pushing herself up off the bed until she's stood at the foot of it again. Santana stops and sits up, thinking she's done something wrong, that she's gone too far, but then Brittany's panting uncontrollably as she trips to push her underwear down her legs and tug her shirt over her head. Then she's back in the same place between Santana's knees, one hand shaking as it reaches to squeeze at her own breast, the other stroking down her stomach until it reaches the apex of her thighs.

Santana's pretty sure the world stops when Brittany's fingers find her own clit with ease. The sound that's somewhere between a moan, a groan and a gasp of unadulterated need is something that's going to be engrained to her memory forever as she watches Brittany's mouth fall open in relief.

It's then that she realizes that her prior thought was true. The only thing she knows she can watch Brittany do is watch her. There's no way she can watch Brittany do this to herself, not when Santana is willing, not when she's able, not when it's the only damn thing she wants to do.

So she shakes her head and kneels up until she's level with Brittany.

Brittany's eyes droop as her hips cant forward to brush her pelvis against Santana's. Santana grabs her by the wrist and Brittany shakes her head, gasping out the incoherent words her mouth won't let her form. "No... we... we shouldn't..."

Santana shakes her head and aids Brittany to continue stroking herself with the hand on her wrist. Brittany moans and Santana sighs when Brittany's forehead falls to hers, her other hand grasping at Santana's hand between them.

"We shouldn't..." Brittany gasps, even as Santana's littering kisses up her nose. "You're... we can't... we need to..."

"We can..." Santana says thickly, eyes fluttering at the way their breasts press against each other. "But let me touch you," she whispers softly. "Please, let me..." Brittany's mouth gasps against her and she groans as Santana leans out to suck Brittany's bottom lip between her own. "Please, baby..." she whispers.

And then it's strange, the way Brittany's eyes suddenly spark with recognition. Her eyes brighten at the gentle term of endearment and her hands stop as she looks into Santana's eyes. Santana kisses her bottom lip this time and begs her silently to just let her have this when she needs it so badly.

"Please," she repeats again, just in case.

Before she knows it, Brittany's hands are gone from between her legs, leaving her own behind. Instead, they grasp at her cheeks and pull her close until Brittany kisses her hard and fast, tongue skirting out immediately to taste inside of her mouth. Santana falters for a moment, shocked by the taste of Brittany in her mouth after too long and that says enough. The realization jumps her into action and the hand resting against Brittany's thigh slips between them and brushes against her, mirroring her previous actions on Brittany's clit, coating her fingers in the moisture that pools there.

"More..." Brittany pants against her lips and less than a second later, Santana has her flat against the bed, thigh pushing her knees apart as she drives two fingers inside of her.

/.../

The music is still playing, the candles still burning, and it's better than anything she could ever imagine. Brittany's still socked thighs wrap around her waist as her hips cant up to meet each thrust inside of her. Santana kisses against her long neck, tongue tasting the sweat that coats there and loves the way that she tastes of chlorine and the sugar from the brownies.

Her spare hand tangles in Brittany's hair as she supports herself on her forearm, putting her entire body into every thrust as she drives her hips against her hand, making sure to hit Brittany's clit with the heel of her palm. She couldn't give a crap about what happens to her as long as she gets to see Brittany shatter and it's not long before she does, hips rocking into Santana's and moaning into her mouth.

/.../

She's not made aware of her still existing arousal until a few moments later when Brittany draws Santana's fingers from where they still remain inside her and brings them to their faces. Santana turns her head to look and watches as Brittany draws the fingers into her mouth. The throb in her pelvis almost paralyzes her at the way Brittany's eyes flutter closed at the taste of herself and the way that her tongue runs against Santana's fingers.

She looks back at Santana with knowing eyes and offers her hand to her, shy and timid. But Santana shakes her head and leans forward, dipping her tongue into Brittany's mouth and tasting her that way. It's new and unfamiliar, and something she would never do under any other circumstances. But her body still thrums without inhibition and she moans as she tangles their tongues together, wondering what it would be like to have that taste in her mouth again and again and again, because it makes her head spin more than any drug could.

Brittany moans and pulls away from her, resting against her forehead, breathing heavily. Her heart pounds just as wildly as Santana's does, but Santana's not sure what that's from anymore. Brittany reaches forward and tips her chin until they're kissing again, softer this time, just lips stroking against lips. She rolls Santana onto her back easily and presses a pacifying kiss to her top lip when she whimpers at Brittany pulling away.

It's only for a second, though, as she rearranges her body over Santana's and begins to make a steady bath kissing down her neck, over her chest. She doesn't waste too much time teasing her. Her tongue strokes down Santana's stomach and Santana's hand goes to the back of her head without a thought and her entire body jerks when Brittany's tongue hits her center. She laps steadily and it's amazing, incredible and her eyes roll back in her head as she realizes that she needs nothing more than the feather-light touch of Brittany's tongue and her mouth over the tingly, sensitive skin.

It doesn't take long at all for her to reach that same precipice again. Her chest heaves with need and Brittany reaches her hands up her chest to cup one hand over her breast while the other holds one of Santana's quivering legs over her shoulder.

"Come for me," she hears Brittany whisper against her, and that's all it takes.

/.../

Her head feels weird when she wakes up, but she doesn't feel particularly high anymore. She lets her eyes open and looks around, expecting the room to be empty. It isn't, however. Brittany lays on her front with one of her legs hooked over Santana's, as her body faces away, hanging over the edge of the bed. Santana groans and takes advantage, climbing to straddle Brittany's hips and leans down to press kisses over her shoulders and down her spine.

"Hi," she says, her throat thick with sleep and her mouth still dry. "Are you smoking another joint?" she asks when she sees Brittany flicking something onto the same glass plate she was using the earlier.

"It's a cigarette," she says but she doesn't sound like she usually does. There's sadness and disappointment in her voice and Santana can't bear to think about what it might be because of.

"I wasn't aware that you smoked, Miss Pierce," she says throatily, pressing more kisses to Brittany's shoulder, pushing her hair away in the process.

Brittany smiles a little. "I don't..." she says softly. "But I like the smell... it reminds me of you, sometimes."

Santana smirks against her shoulder and reaches down to take it from her. She inhales some into her mouth, even though it hurts to, and breathes it out softly around them. "You okay?" she asks. "We haven't... you know..."

Brittany turns her head until it's resting on her bicep. She looks up at Santana before looking away. "Yeah, I know..." she nods apologetically. "I just... I've been confused. About us. About... you," she looks away then. "I mean... you didn't say that you wanted to leave."

Santana kisses her softly, hating how sad she looks. "That's because I don't know if I'm going to yet. I didn't want to tell you until I was sure," she explains. "I didn't want to upset you like this for nothing."

"Really?" Brittany asks, her blue eyes sparkle and Santana leans forward to kiss her nose before nodding. Brittany struggles for a moment, rubbing her cheek against her bicep like there's an itch there. "It would be okay, though," she mutters. "If you wanted to. I mean it would suck that you'd be gone in a year but... it would be okay. I'd still be proud of you. Just tell me first."

Santana softens and something settles in her. She didn't realize that she needed to hear that, but now she has, it makes her feel better.

"I'm just scared that you're going to forget me," Brittany goes on.

Santana washes with unexpected tears. She shakes her head frantically. "I couldn't..." she says. "I don't think I'd know how to do that if I tried."

It seems to pacify something inside of her and Santana watches as she buries her face into her arm, eyes dark and brooding as she worries things over in that mysterious mind of hers. Santana watches, always fascinated.

Brittany flicks her eyes to her and shrugs. "I can't wait forever," she says softly. "You know that, right?"

Her stomach drops. On the surface, of course she'd known that. But, somewhere, deep down, she thought that, with Brittany, it might be possible.

She nods. "I know, baby."

Brittany's face sparks with that same recognition it had done last night. She takes a deep breath and lets the words wash over her like warm, soothing water. "You've never called me that before," she breathes.

Santana plays stupid. "What?"

"Baby," Brittany sighs dreamily. "You've never called me 'baby' before."

Nerves bubble within her. She feels stupid all of a sudden. "Do..." she laughs a little and tries to keep cool. "Do you not like it?"

Brittany smiles at her like she's being silly. "No," she shakes her head. "No, I love it. Why have you never called me that before?"

Santana tries to move away but Brittany holds her fast, keeps her anchored above her and switches them so Santana's flat on her back again with Brittany hovering over her. With a nudge of Brittany's nose against hers, the words break free. "I don't know," she shrugs, voice full of nerves. "I've always wanted to," she admits. "I just... I didn't think that you'd want me to."

Brittany gives her a knowing smirk. "I do," she nods leaning closer and nudging their noses together again. Santana tries to reach for a kiss but can't quite get there. "I do," Brittany reiterates. "So don't stop."

/.../

A little while later, Brittany cuddles up to her side and presses her mouth to Santana's ear. She sighs deep and full of melancholy as she squeezes Santana close like she's going to leave at any minute.

"Don't take too long, okay?" she whispers and Santana's eyes close with guilt.

"I won't," she whispers back, too afraid to make it a promise.


	10. Part 8

It's not what she expected it to be, being left alone in bed.

Her arm stretches out beside her automatically, even though she's never done it before, and it burns to find the sheets beside her cold. At first, the truth doesn't register and she keeps sleepily reaching for soft and supple skin until her eyes open and her stomach drops with an unbearable ache. Suddenly, the bed doesn't feel as warm as it did a minute ago.

It hurts to be the one left behind, wondering. It hurts to be the one disappointed.

Shame and guilt plummets inside of her, unable to accept that this is what she's been doing to Brittany for so long. She buries her face in the pillow and tries to control the tears that well inside of her.

It takes so much effort that she almost falls back into a sleep, dreams of every single time she left Brittany playing like a show reel swirling around her head. Her brain is seconds away from slipping into unconsciousness when she hears the shower shut off.

Her mind is suddenly very much awake.

Then she hears nimble feet wandering back into the room, a familiar humming and then the tell-tale signs of a record being slipped onto the player. Her heart skips and she lifts her head from the pillow, aware of the single tear that leaves her eyes for a different reason now. She turns her head slowly, eyes still sleepy, and doesn't breathe out until she sees the only thing she'll always want to see.

Brittany pulls the underwear up her legs, hips swaying already as they move to the record. The volume is low, but it doesn't stop her. She sways her hips to the beat and Santana's mesmerized, stuck. She chastises herself for ever thinking that Brittany would leave.

Brittany's not her. She's better.

/

She's unaware of how long she's been staring, but Brittany sways to the song like her hips are controlling every beat. She's not really dancing, just moving to the music, but it's still one of the most beautiful things Santana's ever seen. She props herself up on an elbow, her earlier fear dissipating easily and replacing itself with awe.

Her mind stops worrying and, instead, she finds herself daydreaming about a life like this, right here. She wonders what it would be like to have Brittany as her own human alarm clock, waking her up when the shower shuts off and when she's dancing to the radio.

She thinks that she'd always be happy, because how could she not be when her day starts with this?

She blinks out of her daydream when she hears a giggle. Her eyes refocus and find Brittany staring at her. She's still only wearing her underwear, her hair damp from the shower. She grins madly and Santana smirks back.

"You know," Brittany says, "It's rude to stare."

Santana shrugs. "I wasn't staring," she bites her lip and flits her eyes across Brittany's body. Her hips, her thighs, the curve of her torso to the gorgeous sparkly blue of her eyes. She takes a deep breath in. "I was... admiring."

Brittany looks at her curiously, but there's fear and nerves in those eyes. Santana ignores it for the sake of keeping herself together. "Admiring what?"

Santana looks at her, letting the blood rush to her head and blossom in her cheeks. "You," she says and her heart skips a beat.

Brittany moves closer. Her hips still sway and Santana can't tell if she's doing it to the music anymore. It doesn't matter. She's more concerned with the way that Brittany's knees dip the end of the bed like they did the night before, the way she crawls up and hovers above her with a face full of determination.

Santana feels typically fearful. Her eyes dart to the still closed bedroom door, the window and the balcony. They're still hidden but it's more likely that someone will walk in. "Anyone could find us," is falling out of her mouth before she can control it.

Brittany doesn't take any notice. She pulls the covers away from Santana's naked body and leans down to kiss from the base of Santana's breast bone to behind her ear. Her nose presses to the skin and she breathes in unsteadily. It scares Santana how much the sound makes her feel like everything's right in the world.

"They've gone to the beach," Brittany whispers softly. Her lips kiss Santana again. "It's two pm. They went an hour ago... Artie and Quinn went somewhere, too. I told them you were sick."

Santana feels her hands instantly come up to rest at Brittany's thighs, urging their pelvises flush against each other. They both choke on a moan before their eyes catch. They don't need to say anything else.

/

It scares her how easily things can go from slow to desperate. The sun burns through the voile curtains, casting a million colors around the room, but all she's aware of is the blue of Brittany's eyes and the white of the sheets.

Brittany takes the same control Santana gave her the night before and holds her down as she kisses all over her body. There's something sombre about it, something sad in the way that her lips linger over patches of skin. Her nose presses and strokes against the swell of her breast as her breathing becomes ragged. She kisses up to Santana's ear, draws in the smell of sweat, of chlorine and the underlying scent of her hair.

Santana doesn't know what to do. She feels things changing in ways she can't explain. It feels like Brittany's here but she's not at the same time, distant in a way that Santana's never experienced before.

Her teeth bite down on Santana's neck and it's so unfamiliar, so possessive that she's not sure what she's meant to do. Instead she just watches as Brittany's hand skims between their bodies and slips between her legs.

/

The shower is warm and it eases her aching muscles, except she's not sure that they ache from physical activity anymore.

She washes her hair, lathering the bubbles in dark locks until they begin to drip down her body. Getting clean usually makes her feel better, like she's washing away the worries of the day before. But not today; she can't wash these worries away – she's _never _been able to wash them away – and now they coat her skin like a layer of grease she can't wash off.

She takes in an uneven breath and thinks about Brittany, laying alone in her bed after falling back to sleep again. She looked so tired, so damn tired. It didn't even feel like she was there with her, just a shell or a hologram of a girl she recognized but didn't know. Her fingers were fast and rough, her tongue was unrelenting and harsh. Her teeth were sharp and her breathing was paced and even, determined. She was in control and Santana had never seen that red in her eyes before.

It felt like she'd lost her, even though she was still in her arms.

Her spine tingles a little when she sees Brittany walking into the bathroom, all tired eyes and sleepy hair. Santana doesn't turn around, just watches her out the corner of her eye, waiting for whatever she has next. She waits for her body to meet cold tiles, for fingers to find their way between her thighs.

But they don't. Brittany steps into the shower wordlessly and barely pauses for a second before her arms are wrapped around Santana's waist. She buries her head in Santana's neck, holds her close and Santana sighs because this is what she's used to. This is the Brittany _she _knows.

Brittany kisses her neck, soothes the bruises that already blossom on her skin, and Santana can feel the guilt on her lips. It makes her knees buckle and her hands stretch out to support herself. Brittany holds her steady, tightens the arm around her body and reaches to tangle their fingers together against the wall.

Santana turns instantly and pulls Brittany to her, keeping their fingers locked. She can't let go, not now. Her arm wraps its way around Brittany's shoulders and pulls her into a kiss. Everything instantly feels that little bit better with her hand in Brittany's and their lips moving together.

/

They're still wrapped around each other under the spray of the water when they hear the others come back a while later.

Santana tightens her hold knowing that she'll have to let go soon, and Brittany's shoulders slump with acceptance.

"I'm going to have to go," Brittany whispers. "They might come up here looking for me."

Santana nods in agreement. "I know," she whispers, kissing Brittany's collarbone. "I love you."

Brittany stiffens a little and then slumps again. "I know," she says as she untangles their bodies. She presses a kiss to Santana's lips and nods. "I love you, too."

/

She wanders down into the kitchen an hour and a half later, directly into the middle of an argument about dinner. None of them notice her, but she just weaves around them and starts taking ingredients from the pantry.

It's not until she starts throwing pans down onto the stove that anyone notices her. Rachel's suddenly at her side, indignantly shaking her head like she can't believe this is happening.

"Santana, you're sick and you look terrible," she says. "You should go back to bed; I'll handle this."

Santana rounds on her slowly, saucepan in hand, and holds up a finger. If she looks anything right now, it's damn good. She'd like to see how hot Rachel Berry could look with bed head, no make up and wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and her underwear.

"Get out of my kitchen, Berry," she says as calmly as she can. She feels so out of sorts that she's about ready to kick Berry's ass just for a dose of normality.

It must be noticeable in her voice because, when Rachel leaves, the others quickly follow after her.

/

She's not even hungry, but she she sits at the table just so that Berry can't make any comments about her getting more rest again. She sits at the head of the table with a Sprite and half a plate of her homemade lasagne and watches the others are they all sit together in silence.

Not a word is spoken and as much as it irritates her how annoying they are, it also unsettles her that they're not arguing.

Eventually, the silence gets to her and the sound of cutlery against plates makes her jaw tighten. She scoffs and pushes her chair back, before storming from the table.

"You fuckers astound me," she shouts over her shoulder, a cigarette in her mouth before she even reaches the door.

/

For some reason, the fact that Brittany is the one who comes to find her shocks her. She jumps a little before she instantly calms. Brittany scratches at her arms as she steps closer.

"We're all going to Uncle Frank's," she says with a shrug, smiling gently. But then her shoulders slump a little and she visibly gulps. "Are you coming?"

Santana smiles and nods because where else would she be?

/

She spends half her night on a bar stool in the corner, nursing virgin cocktails Uncle Frank gives her while she watches her friends act recklessly around her.

The group is split; half of them dance and half of them sing, while occasionally switching sides.

Brittany does a performance of _Toxic _that occupies almost every corner of the bar and Santana watches on proudly as Rachel Berry tries to follow it with a performance of Pink's _U + Ur Hand_ that seems to be geared towards Hudson.

He doesn't seem to get what she's saying though, and that just makes Santana laugh harder.

/

The night seems to be going well until Uncle Frank steps closer to her and lowers his head to her level.

"That friend of yours," he says softly, his arm resting flat to the bar. "She's the same age as you, right?"

He cocks his head behind him and she catches sight of her out the corner of her eyes. She glances at Quinn for a barely second before looking back to Uncle Frank. "Quinn?" she says, "She's almost eighteen."

He turns to look at the girl in question and Santana turns to look too. It's then that she sees what he's really looking at: Quinn's lazy limbs, her red cheeks and glassy eyes. The way she sways to the music and trips as Artie tries to grab hold of her to keep her still. It's nothing new and it takes Santana a second before she realizes the implications of what Frank's saying.

"She needs to go home, Cookie," he says with a pointed look... a look that says she should definitely be concerned. "She can do what she wants there, but if the cops get called and they see her like that... I can't have it in my bar."

Santana nods and it's like something that was once imaginary just came to life. She nods nervously and glances at Quinn. "Yeah, yeah, of course."

She tries to step away but then his bucket-sized hands are around her wrists and holding her back. He narrows his eyes for a second like he doesn't want to say what he's about to say.

"Whatever she's had," he says reluctantly. "She didn't get it from here. Or any of your other friends, by the looks of it." He shrugs. "Just... I'd be careful, Cookie."

She nods and feels something sink inside of her.

/

It takes them twenty minutes to get her onto the sidewalk. Artie clears a path ahead of them through the crowds and Santana holds Quinn steady against her side, practically dragging her through. Once they hit the cool night air, Quinn proceeds to sway a little from side to side before throwing up in the gutter.

Santana grimaces and steadies her so she doesn't face plant into it.

"Where the fuck did she get booze from, Artie?" she says, turning to him. She expects him to yell at her in response but he doesn't. His eyes glaze over with dark worry and he shakes his head. He looks terrified and she almost wants to hug him, but she doesn't.

"I don't know," he says a little breathlessly. "I've been with her all night... All night. All day, even. I've not seen her drink anything but a couple diet cokes and a root beer at dinner. That's it."

He looks like he could cry and she understands instantly. It's been scary enough when Quinn's done this while they're not watching. All the things that could happen to her when they're not watching should be the things that terrifying them the most. But, now, those things are still happening right under their noses and that's worse than anything they can imagine.

"Listen," she says, reaching out for him. He's a foot away and holding Quinn's limp, clammy hand in his but she's never felt closer to him. She's about to say that everything's going to be okay, but the words die in her mouth and she just looks at him hopelessly as she tries to think of something to make him feel better. She can't.

She's glad when Brittany bursts out onto the sidewalk behind them and breathes out a "Hey, what are you guys doing..." before all other words vanish at the sight of Quinn. She looks at Santana with the same worry she'd done that first night in Orlando. "I'll get the others," she says before she heads back into the bar.

/

Their worry goes over the heads of the others and Santana's glad for it.

She and Brittany take Quinn upstairs and put her in bed. She looks completely at peace, but Santana knows that isn't true. She strips Quinn of her clothes while Brittany disappears downstairs.

She stares at her and wonders what the hell is going on in that head of hers until Brittany returns, glass of water and bucket in hand. She sets them both where Quinn might need them before leaning forward to press a kiss to Quinn's forehead.

"Feel better, Quinn," she says and, if Santana wasn't so damn worried, she would kiss her.

/

She does it without thinking. One minute, she's walking past Artie's worried looks at the bottom of the stairs and the next she's in the kitchen, fetching an empty cardboard box. She wanders around the house and places every bottle she can find in it until it's almost too heavy to carry.

She can feel Brittany stood behind her and she ignores her as she takes one last fleeting glance around the kitchen before heading to the pantry. She's on her grandmother's foot stool in a second, climbing to the top shelf and reaching around blindly in the darkness for the thing that she wants.

She finds a bottle of cognac her grandpa used to keep there for dinner parties first, and places it inside with the rest of the half-empty bottles. But then she's back to her task, searching impatiently for the thick envelope she'd hidden there the day before while Brittany had been excitedly bouncing at her feet

When she's palmed at every inch and found only thick gray dust, panic dumps itself easily in the base of her chest.

/

She takes a few moments to herself so she can calm down while a million reasons rush around her head. She clutches at the edge of the shelf until her knuckles go white and it isn't until Brittany's calling out a tentative "Santana?" that she climbs down from the stool, hefting the box under her arm as she exits the pantry.

"Hey, Britt," she says as carefully as she can. "Did you move the weed?"

Brittany's brow furrows with confusion and then it sparks with the same worried recognition that Santana had felt. To anyone else it would have felt accusatory, but the way Brittany looks at her says that she's thinking the exact same thing that Santana is.

"It's not..." she starts and steps preemptively closer. "It's not up there?"

Santana shakes her head. In an instant, a million different emotions rush her: worry, anger, betrayal, panic, hurt. The box is falling onto the counter with a crash and her feet are moving before she can stop them. Brittany sighs as she tries to catch up with her, but Santana's a little too fast. She's in the living room and switching off the TV before she Brittany can stop her.

"Where is it?" she demands. Her hands shake as she grabs the remote from Sam and her eyes water from how wide they are. She stares at them all, looking for guilt, but she looks away quickly, aware that all they're going to see is her panic. "Come on," she demands her voice raising. "Where is it? Who took it?"

Brittany's hand is on her elbow, soothing her but she's still mad. They all look at each other and then at her like she's crazy and, for a few seconds, she thinks that maybe she is.

"Somebody's taken the weed," she says, attempting to calm down. Brittany's still there helping; Santana can feel her thumb brushing her elbow back and forth and it calms her enough that she doesn't throw herself at one of them and demand to know the truth. "I hid the weed in the kitchen and now it's gone. So, who _took it_?"

They look at each other again and a unified look of fear spreads through all of them. Santana doesn't think it's the same fear as she feels, though.

"Are... are you sure?" Rachel asks softly.

Santana scoffs. "Yes, I'm sure, Dwarf," she spits. "It's not like I _like_ accusing people of stealing from me for fun, is it?"

"But, there can't have been much left, can there?" Finn mumbles. "I mean, we smoked _a lot_ last night. Probably too much."

It's Puck that answers for her. "We barely used a third of what was there... maybe even a quarter," he tells them. "It's worth a lot of money... hundreds of dollars."

Recognition flutters around the room and increases the worry on their faces. It's all she can see on their faces and it makes her feel bad that not one of them looks guilty. It makes the ideas in her head seem more possible. And there's one thing for sure in her mind: those ideas can't be true.

"Listen," she says and hopes the waver in her voice sounds like it comes more from anger than the tears threatening internally. "I don't care about the weed. I don't care about the fucking money. I care about the fact that someone is in my grandmother's home and they're taking things that don't belong to them. Do you understand? Fucking respect that, okay?"

She's storming from the room before anyone can answer.

/

She debates hiding the booze in her room, until she thinks again and carries it out to her car.

She slips it into the truck and shuffles into the back, taking a breather.

Before returning back to the house, she gulps down some of the tequila and appreciates the way it burns.

/

Only Puck and Brittany are still up when she returns. They sit opposite each other at the kitchen table and Brittany watches the speed of Puck's hands as he deals the cards.

Santana sits between them and takes the glass of Sprite Brittany gives her as she pours her own Dr Pepper. Brittany gives her a smile as she begins to sort through her hand of cards.

She waits for a few hands to pass before she looks over at the empty space opposite her.

"Where's Abrams?" she says, eying the place where his wheelchair would usually sit.

Puck snorts and deals her another card, slapping it down in front of her as he drinks a beer he seems to have pulled from nowhere. She was sure that she'd got all of them.

"He's probably holding back Quinn's hair while she pukes," he snorts, shoveling a handful of chips into his mouth and washing them back with half of his beer. Santana sees Brittany's eyes flick between the two of them as he speaks. "Or he's trying to pry her away from the bottle..." Brittany's hand is around her wrist before she knows what's going on. "Guy's a fool..." he shakes his head. "Chick's a mess."

She doesn't know if it's because he sounds so nonchalant or if it's because he sounds so uncaring, but her chair's hitting the floor instantly, her hands balling into fists as she gets to her feet. A flurry of Spanish leaves her as she pushes him backwards, watching him as he falls to tangle around the chair, his beer spilling all over him.

"What's your fucking problem, Lopez?" he says as she grabs him by the collar. Her hand swings back to hit him but Brittany's there to stop it, gripping her wrist tight as her arm wraps around Santana's waist and pulls her back. Soothing words are whispered into her ear and Puck ignores them as he pulls at the soaked fabric of his shorts. "Jeez, on the rag, much?"

Brittany tightens her grip when Santana fights against it to swing for him. "Santana," she whispers breathlessly. "Let it go, just let it go."

For the third time in less than six hours, Santana storms from a room with enough attitude to rival Rachel Berry.

/

"You need to stop smoking," Brittany mumbles and it makes Santana jump. She spins around from her space leaning against the balcony to find Brittany, back pressed against the wall beside the door to her bedroom. She doesn't know how long she's been there, but she doesn't really care.

She frowns but stubs the cigarette out anyway. She looks Brittany up and down and notices that she's changed into her pajamas. It makes her brow furrow more and she shakes her head a little. "What are you doing here?" she asks and it should feel wrong to ask that question but it doesn't.

Brittany smiles gently and cocks her head inside Santana's bedroom.

"I ran you a bath," she says softly and Santana feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes at the idea. Brittany laughs a little. "You looked like you might need it," she jokes but it doesn't really work like a joke. Not when it's true.

/

As soon as she smells the bath salts and sees the thick layer of bubbles that floats atop the water, she feels tired.

She sits on the edge of her grandmother's huge bathtub and rolls her neck and shoulders, fighting away the tension. She can sense Brittany smiling at her as she mills around Santana's room, fetching her something to sleep in.

"C'mere," Brittany whispers softly, and she turns Santana around so that she can get to her hair. Her fingers rake through it gently before she piles it atop Santana's head and ties it with the tie she always keeps around her wrist.

Santana slumps against her in exhaustion and says nothing when Brittany slowly removes her dress, lifting it over her head and tossing it across to the laundry basket in the corner. She's naked in Brittany's arms a few seconds later but it doesn't excite her for the first time in a long time.

"Stay with me," she whispers fists gripping at Brittany's sleep shirt weakly. Her eyes open for the first time in minutes, just in time to see Brittany nod in consent and take her shirt from Santana's hands and lift it over her head.

/

She could fall asleep like this, she thinks; even if the water goes cold and her body turns into a pruned mess. She's more relaxed than she's felt in a long time, her body completely at ease where Brittany cradles it in her arms. She's warm and mixed with the temperature of the water, she settles into a calm so perfect that it would sting in any other circumstance.

"We've never done this before," Brittany whispers softly. She squeezes water over Santana's body with a sponge, keeping the goosebumps at bay. She runs the softness of the sponge over Santana's body, stroking in all the goodness from the salts that will make her feel better.

Santana nods and she basks in the warmth, in the way that Brittany's thighs feel under her hands and how they squeeze at her hips. She concentrates on how Brittany's breasts feel pressed against her back, how she can feel her heart beat steadily thumping against her spine. It's steady and perfect and all she wants to do is turn in Brittany's arms and press her ear to it, letting it send her to sleep like a lullaby.

She feels her body loosen the more tired she gets, and Brittany's grip around her body tightens. She wraps one arm above Santana's breasts and the other curls around the bottom of her rib cage. Her nose buries into Santana's neck and she breathes in the smell of her, new and clean from the water.

Santana's eyes flutter and she opens one to watch Brittany's hands as they skirt over her skin.

"You need to stop worrying," Brittany whispers against her neck and, as her fingertips map out her body, Santana finds it hard to know which one of them she's talking to when, no matter how tight she holds onto her, it still feels like Brittany's letting go.

/

Brittany drags her from the water, sits her on the edge of the tub and towels her dry. Santana does what she's told and moves when Brittany asks her too. She stands when Brittany wants to dry her back and lifts her feet when Brittany tugs clean underwear up her legs.

It's not until Brittany tries to pull a t-shirt over her head that she becomes aware of what's really going on. The shirt feels awkward and unfamiliar and she opens her eyes to see what it is and blushes a little when she notices.

"No," she says, shaking her head and pulling her mom's old worn gray UPenn t-shirt back over her head. Brittany looks at her confused and she looks down at the fabric in her hands.

Her fingers stroke over the faded letters and she remembers back to the eighth grade when Brittany had seen it for the first time. She remembers how Brittany had recognized the word instantly and brightly said "my mom has a shirt like that, too". She remembers how Brittany's face had fallen when she had followed that statement up with "but she'll only let my big sister wear hers". Brittany had been wearing the shirt since.

"It's..." she whispers and then she stands to tug the fabric over Brittany's head. "You're the only one that wears this shirt."

Brittany looks at her confused and Santana hopes that she doesn't put everything together. She knows it's hopeless, though. Brittany's not stupid.

"Then why did you bring it with you?" she says, eyes going brighter with every idea Santana sees in their deep blue.

Santana takes a moment before she buries her face in the cloth at Brittany's stomach and breathes deeply. Brittany's hands instantly go to the back of her head and Santana sighs before turning to the side.

"Because it still smells like you."

/

That night, Santana's glad she doesn't have to cuddle her mom's old Brittany-scented Upenn t-shirt like she's done on many a night over the last few months.

Instead, she gets to wrap her body around Brittany and fall asleep with her nose buried into sweet smelling hair.

/

They've barely been there two weeks, so they shouldn't need more food already. But when Hudson lumped out the milk onto his cereal that morning, she thought it was a good idea to at least replace some of the stuff they were already out of... and the stuff that was growing more stuff.

She leaves at the same time everyone else does for the beach and tries to ignore the way that she sees Quinn looking around the kitchen for something that isn't there anymore. She even purposefully avoids her so she can't ask her to get anything, mostly because she doesn't know what she'd say.

Instead she backs out of the drive and honks her horn at the others when she meets them on the corner. They wave and she's glad to be away from them and alone, if only for a hour or so.

She needs a plan, and she needs quiet to make it.

/

She's pretty sure she knows what she's going to do, she just needs to be sure that she's not being hasty before she puts things into action. She hefts the bags out of the car and into the kitchen, leaving them all on the counter with every intention of searching the house top to bottom for any left over booze while no one is there.

But then she stops when she hears music coming from upstairs. It fills her with fear because the last thing she did before she left was lock up the house and because she has no idea where her grandpa keeps the baseball bat like she her dad does when she's at home. She looks around for something heavy and finds nothing but a meat tenderizer. She forgoes using it and decides to simply jump on the intruders back and gouge their eyes out when she realizes that the music that's playing is Ke$ha. She smiles a little because... what intruder would break into someone's house and play _Ke$ha_?

She tiptoes upstairs, navigating towards the music and not stopping until she can feel the vibrations of it beneath her shoes. She stops at the half-closed doorway to Brittany's room and peers inside, smiling at what she sees.

Brittany stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by what looks like every full-length mirror in the house, dancing to the music. Her body moves jerkily and Santana keeps herself hidden as she watches Brittany look at herself, brow furrowed in frustration. She's trying to think of new moves; Santana's seen her do this enough to know when she's trying to push herself harder, trying to find the next awesome step (like someone throwing her in the air or doing fourteen backhand springs into the splits) and be better than everyone else.

/

She watches her for what feels like ages, smiling every time she gets frustrated to the point of giving up, before figuring out some other awesome move to do next. She slumps to lean against the door jam and just watches her, watches how she moves and how perfect she is, how effortless every move looks once she's thought so hard about it.

She's done this so many times and it still amazes Santana how sensational she is. Not from that very first time she saw Brittany do a pirouette at her Christmas ballet recital to watching her dance on stage at sectionals last year has her amazement wavered; it's always increased. There's not a day goes by where she doesn't become more aware of how wonderful Brittany is.

Her eyes don't leave Brittany, not until her phone starts ringing and Brittany jumps in shock and turns to her. She switches off Berry's call (that's no doubt only to ensure that Santana buys her more tofu) and glances up at her guiltily.

"How long have you been standing there?" Brittany says, out of breath and wiping sweat from her forehead.

Santana smiles and shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know," she says, pocketing her cell in her shorts and opening the door wider. "What's going on, Britt?" she says narrowing her eyes curiously around the room. There's mirrors everywhere and they all point towards Brittany. "What's with the mirrors?"

Brittany's shoulders slump and she drops down onto the foot of the bed. Santana steps in and moves closer, dropping down beside her.

"Promise you won't laugh," Santana smiles and nods. Brittany looks at her hands in her lap. "I've been worried about dance class."

Santana frowns. "Dance class?"

Brittany nods. "Yeah, dance class," she repeats more forcefully. "I haven't been in... over a month."

"Okay..." Santana nods, not quite sure where this is going.

"I haven't been to dance class in over a month and I've only been silly dancing with Mike and Tina in bars and stuff..." she talks so fast that Santana has to concentrate on her lips to make sure she catches every word and not miss a syllable. "And I haven't been to dance class in a month and, like, what if I start to forget how to dance and then I can't dance anymore because I didn't practice and then I can't get into dance school or something and I get stuck in Lima for the rest of my life while everyone else goes to college?"

Santana's heart sinks and she goes to open her mouth to say something but Brittany's not done.

"Everyone was talking about what they were going to do after school and they all had plans... maybe they weren't sure plans like yours, but they're still plans and I don't want to not have a plan," Brittany says. "I don't want to not know where I want to go or what I want to do... and I'm probably not going to get into a real college, but I know that I can get into dance school; I just need to practice so I don't forget."

Even though her heart is breaking a little bit at the thought, Santana reaches out and takes Brittany's hand in hers. "Then why didn't you tell me?" she whispers softly.

Brittany shrugs. "Because I didn't want you to think I was being stupid."

Santana turns completely and cups Brittany's face in her hands. "You're not stupid," she whispers before she kisses Brittany quickly, just a peck on her lips. "You could have told me," she says, nudging their noses together as Brittany keeps staring down into her lap. "Plus," she smiles and waits for Brittany to look up at her curiously. "I have a better idea."

/

Puck has a case of beers under each arm when the others return and the sun's already down. He takes one look in the fridge, sees all the fresh meat Santana got at the store and heads outside to light up the pit.

Most of them are drunk before dinner's even over and Santana shoots Artie a look across the pool to see if he's just as worried about Quinn downing beer after beer as she is. He looks completely lost and Santana's worries feel validated again and again and again.

It's not exactly a bad thing when Brittany presses a reassuring press of her palm to the base of her back and whispers that everything will be okay, either.

/

It takes them until noon the next day to get up and get ready. Santana sits beside Brittany at the breakfast table, trying to keep her calm so no one figures out what they're up to. It's like old times, keeping secrets to themselves that no one else can know, and Brittany bouncing a little with that perfect smile makes her feel like it's finally summer.

Santana doesn't say anything until they've all left. She sips at her glass of orange juice until Quinn and Artie close the door behind them on their way to visiting another museum and waits until Brittany rounds on her to acknowledge the promise she made last night.

"What is it? What is it? What is it?" Brittany bounces moving closer. Her hand squeezes high on Santana's thigh and that's enough to make her day better already. Another morning of accidentally waking up spooning Brittany has already given her a great start to the day, and she rolls her eyes teasingly as she gets up from the table and reaches for Brittany's hand.

She leads her to the garage at the back of the yard, beside the pool house and stands Brittany in front of the locked doors as she reaches into the pocket of her cut offs to get the keys.

"What's going on?" Brittany says with awe in her voice. "What are we doing in here?

Santana doesn't answer, not until she's found the right key and opened the door, and she still doesn't say anything until she's urged Brittany inside. Brittany instantly heads for the black 1960 Cadillac and runs her fingers along the hood. "Are we gonna ride in it?" she asks confused.

Santana shrugs. "We can if you want, after," she says and she begins to push the boxes into the corners near where the twin washers and dryers sit at the back of the room. "I was thinking that we'd move these boxes out of the way and then drive the car out onto the drive and you can use this as a dance space."

Brittany's eyes light up and then she shakes her head. "I can't let you do that," she says and Santana scoffs instantly. Brittany looks at her and regards her gently. "You'd really do that for me?"

Santana laughs and steps over to her without another thought. She presses her lips quickly to Brittany's and smiles as she pulls away. "Of course I would.

/

Santana learned to drive in her grandma's Cadillac and it's still the car she feels the most comfortable driving. It's not a tank like her own car.

She parks it out onto the drive and honks the horn at Brittany, appreciating the way that Brittany kisses her against the hood when she gets out. It's quick but it sparks something in her and she slaps at Brittany's ass until she's heading back into the garage.

It takes a while but soon they have the lights working (after realizing they needed to change the bulbs) and the area clear of dust. Brittany sweeps the floor of debris and dirt while Santana rests the huge mirrors (that the interior designer had promised her grandma would be modern and fresh, before she fired him) against the walls. Finally, Santana wires up her iPod to the sound system that her grandpa installed to drown out her grandma's yelling, and it's ready.

She hasn't even put on a song before Brittany's using the space perfectly, moving across the floor with ease until Santana can practically hear the music she's dancing to in her head. Brittany's always been able to create a beat with her body. Her yellow chucks squeak on the floor and she giggles at the freedom to move around.

She's just dancing, like she always does, but it's sexy and it's beautiful and a million other things she'll never be able to make coherent, but it does things to Santana that it hasn't done in a long time. Brittany's freedom makes her tingle to her toes, and the smile on her face makes Santana feel free too. She follows Brittany with her eyes, with her body, turning in circles and just watching as Brittany does something as simple and wonderful as moving.

She's closer than she remembers before she can even notice, and Brittany's body slows as the beat in their heads fades away. With Santana in her dance space, she can't move as much due to the body that almost has her backed against the wall.

And, to be honest, Santana wouldn't have it any other way.

/

A look passes between them; it's nervous and unsure, but then Brittany's lips are curling up slightly and all doubt Santana has goes flying out the window. Her eyes catches a patch of skin on Brittany's hip, exposed from where her shirt has ridden up and her jeans hang low on her hips. The dark green of her shirt and wash of her jeans makes her skin look pale, even though she's been in the sun for the past month.

She backs out of her grasp as Santana's fingers brush her skin, but she misjudges how close she is as her back hits the wall with a dull thud. Santana's eyes darken and Brittany's lips part and she wants to kiss her, she wants to kiss her so badly, so properly, so much in the way that Brittany _should_ be kissed, that she feels an ache down to her toes with want.

She bites her own lip at the thought and presses her palm against the wall right beside Brittany's head for support. She searches Brittany's face before she leans closer and breathes in the scent of her hair, just as her fingers skim over the heart-shaped metal of her belt buckle.

Brittany shivers when Santana's breath rattles against her neck, practically quakes when Santana leans in slowly and presses her lips gently to her pulse. She leaves her mouth still for a moment, but then drags her lips upward, open-mouthed kisses sucking against Brittany's jaw and up behind her ear. Her fingers work at Brittany's belt buckle, years of experience, of evenings on their couches and in the backs of cars, in movie theaters, meaning that it's seconds before her fingers are deftly opening the metal until it falls open.

"Do you want me?" she breathes as the button on Brittany's jeans follows her belt. Brittany barely nods, barely makes a sound as she remains anchored to the wall by Santana's body. Santana presses another open-mouthed kiss behind her ear. "Where do you want me?" she breathes.

Blue eyes widen and the only response that leaves her mouth is a soft and gentle broken moan. Santana smiles and works her way down Brittany's jaw. She kisses her chin just once before capturing Brittany's lips in a kiss that's instantly desperate and full of tongues tangling around each other, searching for more.

/

Brittany pulls away and pants against her mouth, breathless quicker than she usually is. It says enough and Santana sucks on her bruised bottom lip in triumph, feeling bold and in control. She doesn't think when she tugs on the lip in her mouth with her teeth, biting gently and pulling a sound from Brittany so wonderfully compliant and desperate that heat shoots directly to her center.

It feels like walking on a tightrope when she takes her hand away from the wall, losing all support for a moment as she draws her fingertips down Brittany's arm. Her index and middle finger circle her wrist and she smirks at Brittany, resting their foreheads together as Brittany arches up impatiently against her. She's too busy shuffling, trying to get Santana to kiss her again that it catches her completely off guard when Santana pushes her jeans down off her hips, just enough to fit her hand inside Brittany's underwear.

Brittany's breath catches, her eyes and mouthing growing wide as Santana presses her farther into the wall. Santana feels her flinch at the cold feel of the brick but forgets about it when she rounds her hand to Brittany's ass, lets her fingers dig into the curve of it before gripping at Brittany's thigh and tugging it around her waist. It creates more room and Santana's hand slips a little farther between Brittany's legs, cupping her gently.

Her face buries into Brittany's neck at the familiar feeling that still leaves her reeling. Moans kiss into Brittany's skin and she doesn't know what she's waiting for but she knows she needs something. Her fingers tease, slipping through her ss they become re-accustomed to the feeling. Brittany whines, jaw tight as she sucks in a breath through her teeth and moans it out when Santana's presses her fingers ever so teasingly in.

"Is this where you want me?" she chokes out in a whisper. Brittany nods, eyes fluttering closed the more pressure Santana exerts against her. "Say my name," she demands, "Say it."

Brittany moans and her hips cant against Santana's hand. "Santana..." she complies.

Santana pants. She kisses Brittany everywhere: her neck, her jaw, her chin, the hollow between her collarbones before dipping her head to kiss at the swell of her cleavage. "Again," she requests desperately lost. "Say it again."

"Santana..." she says again, but she doesn't really say it at all. It's just a moan, slipping free from her as Santana pushes two fingers inside of her.

/

She's not going slow but she's not going fast either. Her fingers push and curl, pulling to hit the right spot until Brittany squeaks and moans out all the little noises that Santana loves.

"Fuck, baby," she pants, mouth buried against Brittany's chest the higher she pushes herself on her tip-toes against the wall in the search for friction. Brittany undulates beneath her and it's almost hard to keep her pressed against the wall and her rhythm steady inside of her. Brittany's hands grip at her wrist and at the back of her neck. Fingernails bite at the top of Santana's spine and she arches at the sting before groaning at the feeling of Brittany reaching around to her ass. She forces her closer, sandwiches Santana's hand between their bodies as their hips grind together. She can feel Brittany's hip bones digging into her and it spurs her on. She wants Brittany to come. She needsher to come _right now_.

Her hand leaves Brittany's thigh and tangles in her hair. She guides Brittany back to her mouth, nips at her lips and tangles their tongues together again. Brittany sobs with need and gasps away from her, burying her face in Santana's shoulder. Santana won't allow it, though, and she shifts away until Brittany's looking at her. Their foreheads rest together, noses squashed, and Santana grips a naked hip and slows suddenly. She looks at Brittany and loses herself completely in blue eyes as she moves her fingers deeper into warmth.

She feels Brittany tightening around her and works against it, pushes harder inside of her and grips her hips to force her further against her fingers. Santana watches her as her eyes go wide and her body stiffens. She keeps moving, keeps her fingers steady until Brittany's sucking in oxygen, holding onto her tighter and panting against her mouth until she comes with one loud, drawn out echo of a moan.

She keeps curling her fingers, pressing in as hard and gently as she can, moving until she's drawn out every single bit from inside of her. She plans to keep going, to search for more but she stops when she hears gravel crunching beneath someone's feet and the sounds of people laughing.

"Brittany! Santana?" someone calls and Santana's eyes grow wide, matching Brittany's until her hand's pulling away and she's backing away so quickly that she doesn't stop until she reaches the opposite wall.

With eyes wide, she looks at Brittany; looks at her with her hair a mess, her jeans around the tops of her thighs and one shoe fallen to the floor. She takes in the red marks on her neck, how swollen her bottom lip is and the blush on her cheeks and can't believe how careless she's been.

/

She's frozen to the wall, breathing dangerously fast, when the voices get even closer. Her brain wills her body to move but it won't. It's paralyzed under the million different scenarios playing in her head of them being caught, of being forced to admit things she's suddenly aware she's no closer to being ready to admit. She remains stunned by the terrifying thoughts in her own head until the voices get even closer.

"Britt?" she hears Kurt call.

It's promptly followed by a concerned "Santana?" from Blaine.

The sound of her name gives her a soul-destroying crash back down to earth. It reminds her who she is, of how much she lost herself for a minute, and she chances a look at Brittany's face, only to find disappointed blue eyes.

"Britt..." she rasps out but it's useless. Brittany shakes her head as she breathes away tears. She rearranges her clothes, the euphoria of minutes ago becoming replaced with shame as she tugs her jeans back into place and slips her foot back into her shoe.

Her hands rub at all the places Santana kissed and then she pushes off the wall as her hands shakily buckle up her belt. She might as well be buckling up her heart.

"I gotta go," she breathes shakily, not looking as she turns to leave.

It's that which sparks Santana back into action. She presses her palms off the wall and darts towards her. "Britt, wait... please," she begs.

The door slams closed before she's even half way there but she opens it anyway. Kurt's there, stood right by the door with Blaine behind him. His mouth opens to speak but it falls when he sees her. He tilts his head to the side, his hand tentatively reaching out for her.

"Are you... okay?" he asks carefully and she snaps her eyes to him. She notices something different there, something knowing and sure and shrugs his hand away before he can get to her.

"I'm fine," she spits before she marches towards the house.

/

Brittany doesn't look at her. Not when the others are trying what to decide to do for dinner, or when she says she isn't hungry or when Quinn nudges her with a hip and asks her what's wrong. Brittany just shakes her head and tells them that she's going for a shower.

Santana debates following, but the guilt and the confusion eat at her and she just stands in the kitchen and watches as Brittany practically runs up the stairs to her room. Santana can already tell, just from the falter in her step, that she's probably trying not to cry and that following her would only make things worse.

Quinn stops her in the doorway on her way back outside for a smoke and looks at her with pointed, firm eyes.

"You okay?" she says softly and Santana turns to her, eyes sad and mouth unsure what to say.

She doesn't even think that's the problem. It's not that she's not sure what to say, it's what she _wants_ to say. There's so many things she wants someone to answer, like why does she always do this? Why is she on a constant loop of the same thing, never changing? Why does she always hurt Brittany and make her the casualty of her own careless actions? Why can't she be stronger? There are so many question she wants to ask, so many that she hasn't even thought of yet.

She's not sure she'll even be able to answer most of them anymore.

"Is something wrong?" Quinn steps closer, curiously looking at her. Santana looks back and feels like she isn't the only one who needs answers, that she's not the only one who's so lost that she doesn't know where she's going anymore.

But when her mouth opens to speak, she finds that she doesn't even have the energy. She sighs and shakes her head.

"Nothing," she says softly, but from the way Quinn's eyes soften, Santana can tell that it really sounds like she's saying "everything".

/

Brittany doesn't look at her all through dinner and that's how she knows that things are getting worse.

It's like there's something stuck in Santana's throat that stops all the words she wants to say leaving her mouth. She watches Brittany and wills herself to speak but, deep down, she knows she can't promise anything other than what she already has. She can't say that anything will change because she still isn't ready, so all she can do is watch and try her best to be better.

They leave the restaurant with Artie and Quinn to go home while the others head off to a bar. She watches Brittany retreat to the new safety of her dance space and wishes that she felt like it was somewhere safe for her, too. But how can it be after their afternoon, after what she did? It's dangerous and she can't let that happen again. She's not strong enough to take that risk a second time. So, she sits with Artie and Quinn and plays cards while they wait for the others to return.

Santana can see her shadow out the corner of her eye and it makes her feel safe that Brittany's there. But, between that and the way Quinn searches the cupboards silently, she doesn't feel any more comforted.

/

She stays up until the others have returned, and until they've all disappeared drunk to bed. She waits until the giggling in the living room from Artie and Quinn has quieted before she takes the few tentative steps across the yard and over to the garage.

She clutches the keys in her hand, with the intention of making an excuse, and taps nervously on the door before entering.

She pauses at what she sees because it's not what she expected. She closes the door softly behind her and wanders to the corner of the room where Brittany has curled herself sleepily into a ball. Her chest tells her to just get on the floor and curl up with her, but her head reminds her that she can't – for whatever reason, she knows that she can't, because someone is punishing her.

Instead she slips down the wall beside Brittany's head and watches her sleep for long moments, until the world starts to go cold and quiet and she can almost hear the sounds of the waves licking at the shore. She sniffs, because unexpected tears wash down her cheeks, and pauses before she reaches to stroke Brittany's hair out of her face and away from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers gently, fingers tracing Brittany's jaw, her nose. "I'm sorry I can't be better for you..."

Brittany sighs when Santana's fingers curve her cheek and she cries quietly as she tries to imprint to memory how beautiful Brittany looks when she sleeps.

/

After a couple of hours and dozing off a little herself, she wipes her face and nudges Brittany awake. For a moment, she looks happy to see her, but then her eyes glaze over with that same disappointment and they both look away for different reasons.

"What time is it?" Brittany mumbles.

"Almost four," Santana says, checking her watch. Brittany looks up at her then, her eyes and mouth changing ready to ask her why she's up so late but Santana shakes her head. "I just remembered I needed to lock up the garage."

Brittany's head bows and she leaves to go upstairs before Santana's even remembered where she put her keys.

/

Hiding the alcohol doesn't stop them. They wake up and they go to the beach. They come back and they've somehow managed to get some alcohol or got drunk while they were gone.

It happens for a few more days and she doesn't say anything. They've got two weeks left of this vacation before they take the long trip back to Lima where they can pretend it never happened in the first place.

She figures she'll give them another chance because, sometimes, people deserve one. She sits in the kitchen most nights and shakes her head as they get drunk and watches Brittany's shadow through the window, admiring her as she performs move after perfect move.

She takes her snacks and drinks and figures she can try her best to make her smile again, to give her something worth smiling for.

She figures this isn't the trip that Brittany hoped for either and she can sympathize with that and knows that it's the little things that help make it better.

/

It's another night, another rowdy mess of drunken escapades and she hides out in the kitchen while letting the others run riot through her grandmother's house. She knows that she'll have to check the house to make sure that nothing's broken or been stolen, but she's tired of trying to stop them and resorts to just deal with it in the morning.

So, she sits in her kitchen smoking more cigarettes than a person who cares about her voice should, and plays a card game that her grandma used to get her to play when she was bored. She listens as her friends run around her grandmother's house like baby elephants, the girls screaming and the boys hollering. She hears the clink of bottles and the hissing of cans opening. She ignores it all and waits for the silence, concentrating on nothing other than breathing the thick smoke into her lungs, the cards in her hands and the shadow of Brittany moving ahead of her.

It's when the silence comes that she knows Brittany will exit the garage and head up to bed. She'll give her that look that begs her to follow and she hasn't so far, so she guesses she never will. Quinn will come to drunkenly say goodnight when Artie wheels her in to get a glass of water to take to bed with her.

And then it'll just be her, and the unbearable silence where only the thoughts in her head are left to irritate her.

/

Tonight is different, though. She can feel it in the air. She can sense the tingle of something new happening. Things still begin the same: they come back, they get drunk, they act like idiots, they go to bed when they're bored.

Except, tonight, it doesn't feel like they're bored. It feels like there's things going on that she doesn't know about that she wishes she did.

Brittany gives her that look again and she thinks that, maybe, that's it; she'll go upstairs. But it doesn't feel right, so she sits and waits a little longer for the silence.

It doesn't come.

It's broken by raised, muffled voices and the thud of footsteps as someone wanders downstairs.

Santana frowns when Kurt huffs his way into the kitchen, pausing when he sees her.

"What's wrong with you?" Santana asks, glancing indifferently back at her card game. He loiters at the door like he might be intruding, but she nods her head towards the chair beside her and waits for him to sit in it.

Kurt settles into the chair and crosses one leg over the other. "I was... I just wanted a glass of water and a minute to clear my head."

The tone of his voice catches her attention and she pauses mid-sip of her fresh cup of coffee to peer at him over the cup. She gulps and licks at her lips before taking another careful sip, preparing herself. "You okay?"

Kurt looks up at her for a minute, worries over her like a problem in a puzzle book, before he clears his throat. "Things are still weird with Blaine," he says softly. "He... we keep..." he blushes and clears his throat and she can't stop an amused smile into her cup. "We keep expecting the other to freak out."

"And what is there to freak out about?" she breathes out, setting down her coffee and going straight back to her cards. "I mean, you told him how it was, right?"

"Yeah, of course," he nods. "He completely understands that we're equals in this. Neither of us has ever done it before," he explains. "Just because he happens to know more about what's going to go on doesn't mean that it won't be the same for him... it just means that he's more prepared."

"I don't think you can ever truly be '_prepared_' for that kind of thing," she says softly.

"Right?" he says shrilly before calming when she jumps back, holding her ear. "Right, sorry. But, exactly. I mean, were you?"

"What?" she says.

"Prepared."

Santana rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "No," she admits with a smirk. "No, I wasn't because knowing how to prevent STDs or shit like that has nothing to do with it and that's probably all he really knows about. That and 'waiting for the right one'. But, you've got both of those and, you know... nothing prepares you for what happens after, for how good or bad it is. How... complete you might feel... how fucking empty. Nothing really prepares you for how much things change."

Kurt eyes her curiously. "And how did you feel after your first time?" She scoffs and shakes her head. "No," he says prodding her in the arm. "How was your first time, Santana Lopez? I won't tell."

"It was perfect," she snaps and instantly blushes. "It was perfect because... I didn't expect it and because it was the only thing that felt right. My second time was worse than my first."

"Because you had a standard to live up to?"

She looks up at him and tries not to think about Puck thrusting atop her without a clue and the way she'd cried after, so lost and confused. "Yeah, sure," she nods but Kurt looks like he doesn't really believe her. He eyes her again and the sinking feeling in her gut instantly returns.

"So," he says carefully. "This _person_ you lost it to... does it still feel right?"

Santana hands work furiously at the cards on the table, using them to keep her mind in order. She knows what move comes after another and she stares down and concentrates on keeping control. She gulps and nods. "Yeah..."

Kurt narrows his eyes. "And... what about for them? Does it still feel right for them?"

Santana feels that lump in her throat and she swallows against it. She feels like she's answering different questions to the ones she's being asked. She gulps. "Yeah..." she nods. "I think so."

Kurt nods and gets out of his chair. He gets himself a glass of water and moves to leave, but not before pausing in the doorway. He turns back to her and smiles. "Then, it sounds like you've got nothing to worry about."

/

His words burn and she stays up longer than she probably should. She sits with the cards in her hands for another half an hour before the urge to move overcomes her. She follows her feet until she's in her bedroom, tugging off her clothes and pulling one of her t-shirts over her head. But her room feels stifling and she's not tired. She needs another cigarette, so she exits her room again, but not before stopping to check if Brittany's okay.

She is, of course; fast asleep, her body wrapped around one of her pillows and the covers kicked to the floor. Santana smiles and steps into the room to cover her back up, making sure she's covered from her chin to her toes. She leans to press a kiss to her forehead and pauses, nose caressing her cheek as she breathes her in.

"I love you," she whispers, not wanting her to forget, and receives a sigh in response.

She presses another lingering kiss to her cheek before leaving the room, but all she really wants is to stay.

/

"Oh, Santana, it's just you."

She almost craps her pants, but so would anyone if they walked into their kitchen and found Rachel Berry wielding a skillet and dressed in a black lace babydoll.

"What are you doing?" she hisses, grabbing the hunk of metal from her hands and throwing it back down on the stove. "It's 3am..." she pauses and takes another look at what Rachel's wearing before quickly averting her eyes. "Are you seriously wearing that, right now?"

Rachel blushes. "I was... Finn and I... he talked me into..."

Santana holds up a hand. "Do not finish that sentence."

Rachel nods and quickly makes her way to sit down at the kitchen table. "I didn't think anyone else was up," she says softly. "I was going to make some pancakes and coffee." She shrugs. "I thought it would be the best idea."

Santana takes in a deep breath and shakes her head. Her hands move to the coffee maker to put on a fresh pot and she reaches for all the ingredients to make Rachel's stupid vegan pancakes. She moves to stop her but Santana calmly shakes her head and indicates for her to sit down as she reaches for the ingredients to make normal pancakes for herself.

"What did he do this time?" she asks softly, mixing batter.

Rachel shifts in her chair and moves closer to the table, folding her arms on the wood. "He got angry at me again and... we had a fight," she whispers. "When I'm drunk it's easier to say that I'll do it, but... once I'm sober it just..." she sighs dejectedly and Santana keeps her eyes away, staring down at the batter in the bowl. "Maybe I should get drunk and do it..."

Santana scoffs out a laugh. "Don't be stupid, Berry."

"It'd get it out of the way," she argues but her heart isn't in it. "At least I wouldn't be the only virgin left."

Santana turns, grabbing the fresh coffee on the way. She pours Rachel a cup with a frown. "What about Wheezy? I thought her cherry was still intact."

"Her and Sam are in our room as we speak," she explains softly. "We agreed that we'd take tonight to lose our virginities to our respective boyfriends so that we could take something memorable from this trip and start our senior year as stronger, more powerful women."

"And sleeping with the man child and Trouty Mouth is going to make you stronger, more powerful women?" Santana laughs.

Rachel stares into her cup of coffee like it might hold the answers. "I guess not..."

Santana doesn't say anything else and, for once, Rachel seems happy enough to sit in silence without saying something stupid. Santana makes them pancakes and tries not to concentrate on how nice she's being, as Rachel sips on hot coffee.

"Here," Santana says once the pancakes are done. She puts the huge stack in front of Rachel and watches her eyes go wide. "I mixed more batter than I thought," she explains. "Eat up."

Rachel does as she's told and waits for Santana to sit down with her own plate before she speaks. "These are great," she says timidly.

Santana just nods in response. She's awesome at pancakes but she's better at french toast. "They could use some bacon but, whatever..."

They lapse back into silence. Rachel clears her plate but, the more food she eats and the more leftover booze in her system that gets soaked up by them, the more tired she starts to look. She rests her chin on her hand and lets her eyes flutter closed. Santana can't help but feel a little sorry for her.

"Why don't you go sleep on the couch?" she says gently.

Rachel blinks back awake. "Artie and Quinn are on there," she yawns. "And Puck took her bed upstairs." She rolls her eyes. "He tried to get me to share with him, but... I know better."

Santana nods and watches Rachel for a few more moments, falling gently asleep on her own arm. She feels a swell of sympathy for her and thinks for a moment before pouring herself another cup of coffee and nudging her awake. Rachel looks up at her blearily before sitting up straight.

"Take my bed," Santana says quietly. Rachel looks confused and opens her mouth but Santana cuts through her before she can say anything offensive. "I'm... I'm not tired. So, just, take my bed, okay?"

Rachel must notice something because she looks at her for a minute before nodding and standing. Santana's eyes flicker over her body and she blushes a little, clearing her throat. "Do you wanna... borrow a shirt or something?" she asks.

"I'm fine, thank you," Rachel smiles and Santana thinks it might be the first genuine smile she's received in days. She quirks her lips a little before looking back down at her coffee as Rachel moves around the kitchen, tidying away her plate and washing out her coffee cup.

"Rachel?" Santana says, needing to say something else. She doesn't know why, she just feels like she needs to. She wishes she could have that same feeling in other areas of her life. Rachel turns to look at her with tired eyes. "You're better than Finn Hudson," she shrugs. "And Puck, if we're being honest... but that's not exactly difficult." She shakes her head. "I just want to say that, if he's trying to push you into it... he's not worth it."

Rachel smiles again and nods. Santana looks away and plans on not looking up until she hears feet climbing the stairs. What she doesn't plan on is the hand that lands on her shoulder and squeezes gently, or the way that Rachel looks at her warmly, like she's a stranger who just gave her the most random act of kindness.

"Thank you, Santana," she says and then she's gone, leaving Santana alone to wait for the silence and hope for some sleep.

/

The sun's coming up when someone nudges her awake. She looks around blearily, ready to attack, but softens when she sees glasses-framed eyes and a concerned face. The heels of her hands rub the ache from her eyes and she leans on her elbows as she cups her head in her hands, not sure if her neck can hold it up much longer.

"What time is it?" she asks gruffly.

"Five," Artie says his own voice thick with a distinct lack of sleep. "I just thought you might want to head up and get a couple more hours."

She shakes her head. "Can't..." she groans. "I gave Rachel my bed."

He looks surprised for a minute before he wheels himself to the coffee maker and puts on yet another fresh pot. She looks at him suspiciously. "What are you doing up, anyway? Shouldn't you be snuggling up to Quinn?" His silence says more than words do but, for once, Santana would prefer the words. She frowns at him and grabs a hold of his chair as he tries to move away. "What?" she says, expecting the worst.

He turns his his chair and purses his lips, hands folding in his lap and worrying themselves together. "I can't sleep," he shrugs. "I can't... I can't rest knowing what she might do while I'm not awake."

Santana leans back away from him like she's been burned, like his words are bursts of fire. "Artie..." she says softly.

"No, Santana," he gasps desperately. "Santana, we need to talk about this."

She rubs the ache from her forehead, presses two fingers to her temples and pushes against the pressure there, trying to ease it. Her other hand reaches for her packet of cigarettes and takes two and slips them between her lips. She lights them both with her grandpa's old Zippo and then holds one out for Artie.

"I don't..." he says and pushes her hand away. "It makes my throat hurt..."

"Take the damn cigarette, Abrams," she breathes out, exhausted. "Because a tickle in your throat will be the last of your worries once I've shoved it up your ass... take the damn cigarette because I'm not having this conversation unless you're calm."

He's timid, but he takes the cigarette from her and holds it between his fingers. She waits for him to smoke it but, after a few minutes, she figures that having something in his hands might preoccupy that panic in his mind.

"I don't know where she's getting it from," he whispers as she puffs steadily. "I think a lot of it used to be Puck, but even he's stopped giving it to her now."

Santana rests the end of the cigarette on her bottom lip and sighs. "If she wants it, she'll get it, Artie."

"And that's why I _can't_ sleep," he says, his voice wavering into nothingness at the end of his words. She looks at him pointedly, their eyes burning into each other until he shakes his head and slips the cigarette between his lips. He breathes it in readily and she's surprised when he doesn't splutter and cough. Instead, his eyes gaze out the window. "Do you think it's serious?"

Santana rolls her eyes and can't believe they're having this conversation already. She thought she had a while yet, maybe until they got home, tops. It would be easy to pretend while they were supposed to be having fun but she can't believe it's that bad already. But, as she looks at Artie, she thinks that maybe he sees and knows stuff that she doesn't.

"Yeah," she says because there's no point in lying. She turns to him with steady eyes but nervous hands and watches as he breathes out unevenly. "But I don't know what or why yet."

/

It's a little while after, once they've drunk enough coffee to last a just a little longer, when he clears his throat and looks down at his lap.

"I don't want to hurt Quinn," he says unexpectedly and she stares at the wall in front of her before narrowing her eyes.

"Then don't."

"You don't understand," he whispers, looking around him to see if anyone's listening, even though none of them will be up for hours yet. Not even Berry. "I don't want to hurt Quinn but I'm worried that I've done it anyway..."

Santana's eyes soften a little.

"I slept with Tina," he says reluctantly. Santana's eyes widen despite any indifference or disinterest she might want to feign. "In Orlando. She... I slept with Tina," he shrugs. "And it wasn't what I thought it was going to be."

Past the shock, she's able to notice what he isn't saying through what leaves his mouth. She reads between the lines and smiles a little. "And why's that?" she asks carefully.

His sappy little smile and the pink of his cheeks makes her want to tease him. She doesn't, though, and takes the moment to smirk a little in triumph. She _totally_ called it.

"Because..." he shrugs and clears his throat. "I would rather have kissed someone else a lot sooner."

Santana resists the urge to aww at him and instead shrugs in indifference which, by the sudden look of relief on his face, he didn't expect. "You should ask her out."

He leans back a little and laughs nervously. "You're being a lot cooler about this than I thought you would be."

"Well," she says, pouring them both another coffee. "You like her. And, God knows why, but she likes you, so... I see no reason why you shouldn't." She pauses mid-pour and looks at him. "But, just so we're clear, you mess her up or hurt her and I will go all Lima Heights on your ass, understood?"

He looks like someone just told him he won the lottery. She looks at him and suddenly feels a kindred spirit in him, an ally that she knows she's going to need. She knows that he understands that it's the little things that are important, that there are bigger things than who gets to pick where they eat dinner or whether someone pushed you in the pool. He gets it and, in this moment, she's never been more aware of that.

But, still, she can't stop herself from asking, if only to prepare for a shit-storm later on.

"So, does... Mike know?" Artie's smile instantly falls. "About you and Tina?"

Artie nods after a moment. Santana watches as his throat ripples with a gulp. "I wasn't the only one who had some revelations from the experience," he explains. "She told Mike and he took her back. She said that it made her realize how much she actually loved him."

Santana nods in understanding. "Are you..."

"I'm fine," he smiles and, feeling like she has someone on her side, Santana returns it.

/

They make a plan and, at breakfast, she gathers the others together to tell them.

"From now on," she says softly. "There's no alcohol in this house unless I say so. I'm instating a no drunks policy: if you're drinking or drunk, you can't be in this house." She shrugs and looks at Artie to see him watching Quinn carefully as her jaw tightens. "This house has seen enough damage and vomit for one month and there's not going to be anymore."

She looks no one in the eyes as she shrugs again and steps away from the table.

She's in her room before the bitching starts. She's glad for Artie in the midst of it, fighting in her corner.

/

She spends her morning at uncle Frank's, avoiding the others and their bitching. She sits at the bar and listens to the old stories she's heard a million times, that she can almost recite word for word, and laughs when he flicks at her with a towel.

When Brittany wanders in early afternoon and pauses a little before she steps up to the bar, Uncle Frank notices the change in the air instantly.

"The others..." Brittany starts, hands in the backs of her jeans and feet turned inwards. "I was trying to dance but they wouldn't leave me alone. They said I had to get you to change your mind."

Santana gulps down a mouthful of her drink. "I'm not changing my mind."

"I know," Brittany nods. "I just... I figured that if I told them I was coming here that they'd leave me alone and, maybe, Uncle Frank would let me borrow his dance floor while it's empty?"

Frank laughs at her but nods anyway. He pats the stool next to Santana first. "In a while," he says. "I just made burgers and you need to eat."

/

"She was born to move, that girl," he says a little while later.

Santana nods as she watches her glide across the floor to the applause of the old patrons at the other side of the bar. "She's practicing for when school's over and she gets into dance school."

"Is that what she wants to do?"

Santana shrugs and looks up at him. "I don't know..." she admits honestly. "I think she just doesn't want to be left behind. She doesn't think she can get into college."

Frank lifts the empty plates and glasses from in front of her. "Sounds like she needs someone to believe in her," he says. "Isn't there anything else she wants to do?"

Santana opens her mouth but then something sparks in her memory. She narrows her eyes at Brittany. "Hey, Frank?" She mutters. "Do you still know that guy that works at that aquarium?"

Frank looks at her and laughs. She ignores it though, her mind working a hundred miles a minute. "You got an idea, Cookie?" he asks gently.

When she smiles mischievously, he laughs again.

/

They're kind of lucky to have such a privilege at such short notice, but everyone sorta loves Uncle Frank. Brittany looks reluctant to follow her but with an encouraging shove from Frank, she lets Santana lead her back to the house, where they bypass the still-arguing others and head straight for her Grandma's Cadillac.

"I... thought you wanted to go for a drive in it," Santana says nervously, toying with the keys in her hands. When she sees the first hint of Brittany's smile, she thinks that, maybe, today might be okay.

/

She drives them the long way and gets there just as the park owners are closing the gates. Brittany's eyes narrow and brighten when she sees where they are.

"Santana," she says when Santana reels off her name and the name of the person Uncle Frank spoke to on the phone earlier. "What is this?"

Santana drives into the aquarium and hits the breaks in the middle of the empty parking lot. She turns to Brittany and shrugs. "You're here to swim with dolphins," Santana explains to her gently. "Like you always wanted..."

Santana feels tears prick at her eyes when Brittany's eyes widen in surprise and her face drops with shock. Her mouth opens to speak but she can't quite manage to form the words, so Santana laughs a little and shrugs like it's nothing. If she pretends like it's nothing, then it's easier to ignore the fact that Brittany's looking at her like she's the best thing in the world.

"I just..." she shrugs and looks at Brittany honestly. "I wanted you to remember that there's more things you can do than dance..."

With a dart of her eyes around them to see if anyone's watching, Brittany's hands are on her cheeks and her lips are pressed against hers.

/

She sits at the sidelines as Uncle Frank's old boating buddy leads Brittany to the pool and urges her to jump in. She snaps pictures of Brittany as she wades through the water, eyes wide with awe as beautiful bottle-nosed dolphins swim around her waist and attempt to get her attention.

"You're a natural," she hears the trainers say as Brittany dances with the dolphins and makes them do flips. She watches them jump into the air under Brittany's signal, collects Brittany's beaming smiles like they're made of gold. She snaps pictures with her camera and takes videos that will no doubt make it onto the internet at some point. She laughs when Brittany giggles and tries her hardest not to cry when Brittany keeps looking for her as if to make sure everything's really happening.

When Brittany cocks her head to the side and gives her the softest of smiles, Santana laughs and rolls her eyes, noticing the tears are flowing anyway.

/

They sit on the hood of her grandma's car once they've left, Brittany still wrapped in a blanket to try and get warm from the cold water of the pool. The temperature has dropped and the gray storm clouds roll on up ahead. Brittany shuffles closer, shivering from the cold and Santana finds it easy to wrap her arm around Brittany's back and pull her in.

"Thank you," Brittany whispers, head resting on Santana's shoulder.

Santana smiles a little. "For what?"

"Today," Brittany says, turning to look at her. Santana takes a deep breath in when she realizes how close they are. She can see every single one of Brittany's eyelashes and notices how pretty they are without mascara tainting them. She watches them flutter against Brittany's cheek bones and, even further than that, watches the way that Brittany stares at her lips.

The sun is down and the beach is deserted. Santana tightens her arm around Brittany and holds her breath until she feels cold lips against hers. It's okay; this she can handle. So, she keeps kissing her until the first drops of rain begin to fall steadily around them.

/

They fight to get the top up on the Cadillac and laugh until they're collapsing together in the back seat, giggling and soaked from head to toe in Florida rain. Santana fumbles for the keys in her pocket and begins to climb into the front until Brittany's pulling her back, lips on hers again, ruthless and persistent in their kisses.

"Britt," she says, resisting. It may be dark and the beach may be deserted, but the fear of days before creeps on her until she feels frozen against the wall again, not knowing what to do. "Britt, no... we can't..."

Brittany presses their bodies together and shakes her head. "Yes, we can," she breathes against her lips. "I'll look after you..." she moans as her hands cup Santana's breasts and she guides Santana back onto the red leather seats. "I need you," she whispers and Santana's gone and giving in before she knows what she's doing.

She lets Brittany wrestle her out of her jacket and unbutton her plaid shirt until her bikini's on show. Santana pants, thighs straddling Brittany as her hands grip dangerously at the chair to stop herself from caving in. Brittany must notice, but she ignores it as she flattens herself to the backseat and bends her knees. Santana's body shakes as Brittany urges her up enough that she can fight with Santana's belt and drag her cut offs down her legs. She wriggles out of her own jeans and Santana closes her eyes to avoid watching them be carelessly thrown into the front seat.

She's been in this situation what feels like hundreds of detached times before. Their underwear is lost before Santana can even notice and, with her eyes closed, she can pretend that they're not in Florida. She can pretend that nothing's wrong and that it's a year ago in an empty school parking lot in Ohio after Cheerios practice.

It's easy to rearrange their bodies, shifting around awkwardly and quickly until their pelvises lock together and she can feel the familiar sensation of Brittany's center pressing against each other. She feels the friction of Brittany's clit against hers and presses closer to it out of sheer habit, moaning as she finds the rhythm that shouldn't be so easy to remember after so long. Her warmth thrusts against Brittany's and she groans in frustration as she concentrates on her release. She strives for what used to be the only thing that was important, even as Brittany gasps and grips at her waist, fingernails digging warningly into her skin.

"Santana... no..." she pants, even as Santana can feel the pleasure rushing through Brittany's body. She's wet and that's all Santana concentrates on. "Santana... please..." she ignores the rough timbre of her voice, the fear and the warning, and carries on pretending that Brittany wants the same thing as she does. "San... please..."

Santana moans and shudders, despite herself, emotion coursing through her. She tries to pretend that it feels the same, but it doesn't. All that's going through her mind is that it didn't hurt as much when they did it this way. It was _easier _when they did it this way. It wasn't so hard to not want Brittany when she was taking her so detached like this and she shakes her head into the cold air as she tries to pretend that she isn't lying to herself, to both of them.

"Santana!" Brittany whimpers. She feels hips wriggling and she tries to force her body down harder to keep going. Her knuckles go white with the struggle. It's easier to hurt Brittany this way, with detached and meaningless sex, than with the way she has been.

But, quickly, it all comes to a stop.

"Santana, no..." Brittany says again desperately in a way that unsettles Santana.

Her eyes flutter open and she takes a moment to brace herself before she looks down at Brittany. Tearful blue eyes break her heart and the despair and disappointment in them ruins her as she still cants her pelvis against Brittany's.

"It's not the same," Brittany chokes gently and Santana slows to a stop before collapsing on top of her, legs still tangled together. It doesn't take long until she realizes she's sobbing, too, that her body's shuddering with tears. Brittany flinches away from her but Santana wraps her arms around her, pulling them back together. Brittany steadies her heartbeat. "It's not the same," she says softly.

Santana sobs against her chest, into the moistness of her rain-soaked shirt. She clutches at her and sobs until Brittany reciprocates, wrapping her arms around her and holding her close enough that it starts to feel like they're one person. Santana sobs harder as she tries to work out how someone can feel so close and so far away at the same time. It doesn't make sense.

"It's okay," Brittany whispers. "It's okay." She nuzzles into Santana's cheek, strokes a hand down her back and tangles the other in her hair to steady her. "It doesn't matter," she whispers when Santana tries to explain and only breathless sobs leave her. "I just don't want to do that anymore... I can't have you like that... We're better than that now. I can't go back."

Santana hears her gulps where her ear presses to Brittany's throat. "I want all of you," Brittany admits quietly, like she's too afraid to say them out loud in case they make something break.

"I'm sorry," Santana manages to choke out when Brittany starts to press kisses into her hair, down her jaw. They kiss whatever they can reach until their mouths finally find each other, and Santana kisses her apologies into Brittany's mouth as deeply as she can. "I'm sorry," she shakes her head and has never felt so lost or ashamed in her life. "I'm so sorry."

Brittany sighs, but Santana can't tell if it's in relief or in fear of the inevitable.

"It doesn't matter," she repeats and Santana cries harder because she knows now, more than anything, that it does.


	11. Part 9

They get back late.

She pauses when Brittany follows her to her room and turns before she can come all the way in.

And it doesn't make any sense.

For all the days she spent laying awake wishing Brittany was beside her, holding her, now she can't think of anything she wants less.

She can't think of anything she _deserves_ less.

"I don't..." she shakes her head and stares at the dip between Brittany's collarbones instead of looking at her face.

She's scared she'll still see that disappointment there in sad blue eyes, that it will take her hours to stop crying again if she sees it. She supposes Brittany's expression must be the picture of concern because her hand reaches out to stroke her cheek, knuckles brushing the same path tears had done.

"What's wrong?" she whispers. It's strange that it's only eleven pm and the house is quiet. She wonders, momentarily, if anybody's home before Brittany cups her cheek and she's grounded again, back in the conversation.

She flinches slightly at the touch. Brittany looks at her, her eyes soft and questioning and Santana can't stand it.

"How can you bear to touch me?" she whispers softly, laugh breathless and exasperated. "How can you even – "

Brittany leans in to kiss her. Santana pulls away before there's even any pressure against her lips.

Brittany sighs.

"Let's just... go to bed," she says softly and pulls them into Santana's room, closing the door on the rest of the world.

/

Brittany strips her of her clothes, leaves her in her underwear and leads her to the bed, sitting down on it.

She waits and Santana knows she's waiting for her to remove her clothes too, to engage in the dance they always do before they fall into bed together. Santana doesn't move, doesn't even shift, just sits there dumbly because she knows where those actions lead.

She can't trust herself anymore.

Brittany's sighs again and moves away from her, walking to the other side of the bed before she undresses. Santana waits until she feels the bed dip before she lays back.

Arms wrap around her body and for the first time they feel like they're smothering her rather than anchoring her to the world.

She doesn't sleep; just lays awake and wonders how far she'd have gone if Brittany hadn't have stopped her.

/

She must have fallen asleep at some point because, when she wakes up, Brittany's leaning on her elbow to look over her, hand resting on her diaphragm. It's still raining and Santana blinks the sleep from her eyes before she glances at her.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks softly. Santana glances away as she remembers why she needs to be asked that question. She doesn't feel worse, but she's not sure she feels better. She doesn't answer because the more she tries to be honest, the fewer words she has.

Brittany's brow furrows and then she leans in again to kiss her. Santana sees it and takes in a breath, readying herself to need to push away Brittany when their lips finally touch. Her hands grip at the sheets either side of her as Brittany moves further atop her and this is okay, she can handle this. Their lips move smoothly together, soft and gentle, innocent. It feels like Brittany's kissing everything away.

It isn't until Brittany's kisses linger down her neck that alarm bells start to ring. Her hands fall from where they'd reached to hold Brittany's waist back to the sheets. Her hands tighten in them to preemptively stop herself from doing something she might not be able to control.

Brittany looks up her, eyes heavy and mouth parted. Her lips are already swollen and pink from kissing and Santana tightens her fists in the sheets to stop herself from grabbing her cheeks and flipping them over.

"What's the matter?" Brittany whispers, leaning forward to kiss her cheeks again. One hand lingers on her neck and she can feel the other curled above her head on the pillow, stroking her hair.

Santana shakes her head and tries to swallow away the lump in her throat.

"I don't want to hurt you," she admits in a whisper. Brittany nods at the words and she doesn't know if that makes her feel better or worse.

But then she's kissing her again, mouth pecking hers until Santana's reciprocating and meeting them. "I trust you," she whispers against her mouth as her thumb brushes over the pulse in her neck. "Take your time."

/

Brittany comes and finds her the next night and Santana knows that it's because of the storm that's still raging above them.

She slips into her room and Santana's too busy listening to the tree that hangs over the side of the house to notice. It raps roughly against the roof and she notices how much quieter the sound is in her grandmother's room compared to how loud it used to be when she slept in the room Brittany's sleeping in. It used to feel like the roof was falling through any time there was a rough gale, like the world was crumbling around her.

She sits up ready to go tell Brittany to come sleep in her room and realizes that she's already there, stood in the doorway obviously debating whether she should be there or not.

Santana smiles because it's still stifling warm out but Brittany's wearing sweat pants and a sweatshirt like the layers will protect her from any harm the storm might cause her. Dark rings circle her eyes and Santana turns to the clock on the nightstand to see that it's three in the morning.

Her eyes rake Brittany up and down for a second and she wonders how long she laid there debating whether or not to come in here.

"C'mere," she mutters softly, pulling back the covers and urging Brittany towards her. When she's stood at the other side of the bed, Santana kneels and begins divesting her of the layers, throwing them off the side of the bed. Brittany watches her and lets her, waiting until she's in her t-shirt and underwear before she's attacking Santana with kisses.

A moan leaves her as Brittany forces her back against the mattress, hands gripping at her shoulders and body taking control. Santana's fine while their mouths move lazily, tongue teasing between parted lips. But thunder cracks above them and it makes Brittany jump. She presses harder into her, lets her hands roam wherever they can reach to hold and Santana gasps at the panic and pleasure she simultaneously feels. She pulls Brittany's hands from her and holds them with her own instead as Brittany kisses her neck.

It doesn't take long, but it's quick by Brittany's standards, before she gives up and buries her head in Santana's neck as the storm rages around them.

/

She doesn't know where she picked up this sudden all or nothing attitude.

It must have been with Brittany's words. She said she wants all of her, not pieces and Santana knows that's what she wants too. She wants every single bit of Brittany that she's willing to offer. It's more than she deserves, and she's not strong enough to give herself away yet, but she'll wait.

She wonders if this was what it was like for Quinn, that she trusted herself with her body so incompletely that she just didn't bother – until she did and it all went wrong.

She doesn't want that with Brittany, so she holds her close and hopes that will be enough.

/

She wakes up again with Brittany leaning up on her elbow watching her, staring at her face intently like she's making sure that it's the right one she should be looking at.

It's an expression that Santana's not used to and she looks up at Brittany and frowns, trying to discern what it means. She waits for Brittany's calming smile, letting her know that everything's okay, that she's thinking but she's okay, but it never comes. Instead, her head shakes and Santana sees her gulp, sees how the look grows rather than shrinks at the sight of her.

She looks so confused.

Santana's never seen her look like that.

"You know I love you, right?" Brittany shakes her head again and it almost sounds like she's begging Santana to give her something. She leans closer and she looks into Santana's eyes and Santana just lies there and watches Brittany like she doesn't recognize her either. "You know that, don't you?"

Santana feels her face waver with uncertainty, but she nods anyway.

Maybe Brittany does love her – she's told her so – she just thinks she'll never understand why. Today is one of those days and she hates herself for it.

"I love you, too," she whispers.

Some days, she hates herself for that, too.

/

Sometimes, their mouths stroke together like they're painting the feeling onto each other's lips, memories that they'll never really forget engrained and massaged into their skin.

Each one feels more and more like the last and Santana wonders why, if nothing else, that feeling doesn't make her want to make love to Brittany for all she's worth. She doesn't understand why she's not tasting and touching every inch of her that she can reach.

Brittany's promises ring in her mind and she shakes her head against the kisses and convinces herself that they're enough.

It never really works when Brittany clutches her closer, wanting more.

/

Brittany doesn't even bother going to her own room that night when the wind is still beating against the house and the windows are rattling, threatening.

Santana's brushing her teeth when she hears the bedroom door click behind her, sees Brittany step into the bathroom behind her and grab a towel. It's early again, this new world they've discovered too boring when the sun isn't shining. The TV plays in the background, the menu to one of her TV shows on a loop, waiting for her to return.

"You okay?" she asks but it sounds more like _what are you doing?_

Brittany shrugs. "I was gonna have a shower," she says. "I'm all sweaty from dancing. Is that okay?"

Santana nods and watches as Brittany urges her to side-step so they can share the sink. Brittany's earrings tap against the granite as she puts them down and Santana's just stands there brushing her teeth while Brittany buries herself into the routine. It should make her heart skip a beat, should remind her of all the things she knows she wants. Instead, it makes her worry for Brittany, makes her worry that she's getting ahead of herself, that she's getting used to something that Santana will never be able to fully give her.

"Can you get my knot?" Brittany asks, barely paying attention to her and Santana nods, reaching to untie her bikini at the back of her neck.

She chews on her toothbrush nervously as her fingers struggle to unfasten it and she wants to catch Brittany's eye in the mirror, wants to try and warn her silently that this can't happen right now, but Brittany's too busy taking off the array of bracelets she's collected since the trip started and putting them amongst her own things on the counter.

"I'll be in in a minute," Brittany says softly as she tidies her clothes into one pile instead of the several little ones on the floor.

Santana opens her mouth but no words come out.

/

She wears a t-shirt and sleep-shorts when she comes out of the bathroom. Her hair damp and piled up messily on top of her head, she moves around the room like it's really her own, hanging her clothes over the chair with Santana's before pulling closed the drapes so she can't see outside.

She looks up when she feels Santana's eyes on her and smiles a little, eyes questioning as she steals the moisturizer from the dresser and heads over to the bed. She sits down in the empty space beside Santana and upends the bottle into her hand, squeezing some out into her palm.

"What are we watching?" she asks, concentrating on rubbing it into her legs. Santana's concentrating too, forcing herself not to say something she'll regret when she ruins it in the morning.

"_S-Saved by the Bell,_" she stutters out.

Brittany smiles and turns to her. "I love that show." Santana nods. She knows that; that's why she took out _Seinfeld_ and put this on instead. Brittany's face falls. "I've kinda seen it a lot, though," she ponders. "Did you bring anything else?"

Santana points her towards the shelf in the corner that holds all the shows that have helped her drift off to sleep over the last few weeks. Brittany strokes her fingers over the spines for a few moments, brow furrowing at _Frasier _and _Seinfeld_ and the damn _Golden Girls_. She knows there's nothing there Brittany will want to watch – Brittany's been privy to her nineties sitcom addiction longer than anyone else – but she waits for her to bring something back, curious.

"You didn't bring _Home Improvement_," she chastises playfully as she flops back beside her. She tosses the DVD between them and Santana stares at it like it could burn.

She gulps at what it is and wordlessly goes to the DVD player to put it on.

She tries her hardest not to think about the fact that Brittany chose to watch _Married... with Children _but it's kind of hard not to when she's laying on her stomach and laughing at Al Bundy.

/

The weather report comes in on Monday.

She's tediously flipping her fortieth pancake (she's been counting), listening to Rachel do her vocal exercises upstairs, when Artie and Quinn call her name.

"What?" she says, wandering into the living room in the t-shirt and underwear she wore to bed last night with a pancake in her hand.

Quinn and Artie are still curled up together on the couch, blankets covering them as they watch the TV hung on the wall. Santana glances up to see that they're watching the weather and steps closer, eating.

"How bad are tropical storms?" Quinn asks softly.

Santana's too engrossed in eating her pancake to actually pay all that much attention. "Um. They're okay, I guess. Sometimes they turn into hurricanes, but they're just really shitty storms around here, usually."

She knows she's said the wrong thing when they look like she's just told them they're about to die. And, well, maybe she has, because she looks up at the TV then and sees the local news channel watching as a tropical storm approaches. She drops down onto the arm of the couch beside them and watches. It doesn't look too bad. It doesn't look like that time that Grandma bundled her into the car and they got stuck in Uncle Frank's basement for sixteen hours while the storm passed.

"It's fine." She shakes her head because the last thing she needs right now is Artie going into another loser-panic and Berry to start singing _My Heart Will Go On _at the top of her lungs. She eats the rest of her pancake before standing. "My grandma installed hurricane-proof everything, so... we're good as long as we wait inside and keep an eye on it."

They nod in understanding and look a little better off from her consoling words. Santana doesn't feel better. It feels like a different storm is forming from the one outside, right in here, and she shakes her head as she wanders back into the kitchen to get Puckerman and Finn to help her put everything in the garage, unable to tell herself it'll be okay.

/

Brittany doesn't take too well to being kicked out of the garage in favor of putting the cars and the deck furniture back in there. Santana's making coffee for Quinn and Artie when she comes traipsing into the kitchen with that ridiculously cute pouty bottom of lip of hers on full display. Santana smiles, despite anything else she feels, and rolls her eyes at the navy blue with white polka dot rubber boots Brittany has on her feet.

"Where am I going to dance now?" she grumps, dropping into a chair beside Quinn. Santana shakes her head and reaches for the cupboard above her, getting out the things to make hot chocolate. "The boys said it's not even safe for me to dance in the rain anymore."

"It's a tropical storm, Britt," Quinn explains. "Got to stay inside or die."

Santana instantly picks up one of the cold pancakes sat on a plate nearby and throws it at her. "God, will you shut up with the dramatics," she scoffs. "It's a fucking storm. We're not going to die. I've lived through enough of them to know that." she shakes her head, grabbing some milk and a saucepan and heading for the stove. "It's just the rules, Britt," she says, pouring the milk into the pan and grabbing the powder and sugar. "You won't die but you could get hurt if the wind blows something in your face, you know? It's just a precaution."

Brittany doesn't say anything but Santana can read everything on her face. She doesn't like storms anyway and she hates this one more now that it's taken away her one escape from the crap that's been going on around here. She keeps her back to her as she stirs the hot chocolate till it gets to the right temperature.

She gets the brightest most colorful mug she can find and pours it in.

"I just want to dance," Brittany mutters as Santana swings around to take the drink to her. She puts it in front of her, moving away quickly with the coffee pot in the other hand, and heads for the pantry.

"We've only got the big ones," she says as she drops a bag of marshmallows in front of her. Brittany smiles a little, and that's good enough for her. "You can take my iPod up to your room and dance there if you want," she says as she pours the coffee.

Brittany nods and smiles a little wider, but she doesn't move.

/

She thinks the day's going to be okay until Rachel comes barging into the kitchen, still wearing her pajamas.

Pajamas? In this heat?

"Santana, I've been meaning to ask what the laundry facilities are like here," she asks abruptly before Santana can comment on the fact that her pajamas have ponies on them.

"What?" she asks.

"Laundry facilities," Rachel says again. "Is there somewhere I can do my laundry?"

Santana frowns because of the shifty look on Rachel's face. "Why?" she draws out suspiciously.

Rachel just looks around the room and blushes.

/

"It's... kind of a good idea to get this out of the way while there's nothing else to do," Mercedes says as she stares at the laundry sack of clothing at her feet.

They're stood in the laundry room, which is really like a laundromat because, apparently, if you've got enough room to sleep fifteen people if you want to, you have to have the facilities to wash their clothes. Four washers and four dryers line each side of the room while a sink joins them together in the middle. Santana leans back against the counter and stares. She can already feel the girl talk coming on.

She has _really_ got to stop making a habit of this whole... giving a crap about other people's lives thing.

"So," she says as Rachel clutches her laundry close to her chest. Brittany sits on one of the dryers dressed in her coral bikini, a jean shirt and the blue polka dot rubber boots. Her hair sits wrapped atop her head by a headscarf she bought last week at Mallory Square. They're all wearing the last of the clean clothes they have and Rachel (dressed in an outfit that actually makes her look normal) told her she looks ridiculous. Santana just thinks she looks cute. "Why so shifty?"

Rachel clutches the bag closer. Santana narrows her eyes as she starts edging back towards the door. "It's really nothing... it can wait until we get home. I can... put it in my bags or something... or burn it, or..."

"Rachel."

"It really is nothing," she mumbles. "He didn't mean to. I mean, he meant to – I just don't think it was as romantic as he expected it to be. Or at all, really."

Santana's eyes widen. "Oh," she says knowingly. "Finnocence got a little ahead of himself, did he?"

There's a moment of silence where it seems no one understands what she's saying before Brittany grimaces and shakes her head. "That's gross, Rach," she shakes her head. "That's what tissues are for... or like, comforters."

Mercedes gets it next. "Oh. Ew."

"It was an accident!" Rachel squeaks.

"I'm not judging you," Santana shakes her head. "I've been there."

Tina is quiet when she says. "Mike's done that."

Brittany nods as she says, "Someone once almost got it on my t-shirt... I don't remember who."

Santana nods. "It's just proof to how little control they have when it comes to women."

Rachel looks dejected as she lowers the bag from her chest. "It was my favorite skirt," she mumbles. "I don't want to have to burn it."

Santana snorts. "You won't," she says. "Pass it here, we'll leave it to soak and then you can tell Finn he has to come wash it off for you." Rachel looks a little relieved and wanders over to the sink as Santana starts filling it up with warm water, searching for the detergent. She waits until the skirt is submerged in the water before she turns around. "So," she says when Rachel's done washing her hands in the other basin. "What happened?"

/

"We were just kissing and then..." she trails off through the others trying not to laugh at her. "It was repulsive and gross and I feel like I should have at least been pre-warned before it happened."

Santana laughs then, but mostly because she thinks she'll vomit if she doesn't. "That... yeah," she shakes her head. "That's... sometimes something nobody can control."

It takes a moment but then Brittany cracks up a little, laughing through her nose as her cheeks puff up a little. It starts the others off and soon they're all laughing at each other and Santana's catching Brittany's eye over the tops of all of them.

She winks at her and Santana's forced to look away for fear of laughing any harder.

/

"Mike once..." Tina shakes her head. "I appreciate his dance skills – he's amazing – but sometimes I wish he'd just get on with it you know? The amount of times we've had to hit up the emergency room a town over because he almost broke something from trying to do something new..."

Mercedes cackles and Tina smiles in response but Santana notices the smile doesn't quite catch her eyes like it usually does.

"I remember..." Santana starts slowly. They've been in here a while now, gossiping about the boys as they wait for the laundry to finish. The boys somehow managed to convince them to do theirs for them too and Santana's fine with that because, if the storm doesn't flood them, she'd much prefer the washers didn't instead. So they've sat here for God knows how long, just talking. "Puck was once so drunk when we were dating that he couldn't find where he needed to be and tried to get into the next best thing... if you get what I mean."

She grimaces while Rachel and Mercedes stare at her like she's crazy. Quinn and Tina roll around the floor, clutching their stomachs with disgusted laughter.

"Seriously," she shakes her head as Rachel and Mercedes still just look at her. Brittany shakes her head but she's laughing, so Santana goes on. "Don't let them put it _anywhere_ because it won't shut him up; he'll just find other places he wants to put it."

Rachel looks like she's going to throw up but Mercedes' brow furrows at her words. "Like where?" she says.

Brittany has to grab Santana to stop her from falling off the dryer, she's laughing so hard.

/

"I told you before, Berry..." she slaps her hands on her thighs. "He's got zero co-ordination. He'll probably end up breaking your nose again."

Quinn nods. "I only ever really made out with him and he literally had no idea what he was doing." Santana looks at Quinn and wonders why she's suddenly so interested in joining the conversation. "I once had a hand print on my boob for about week he held them so hard."

Santana points to her. "Yep!" she nods. "He uses them as handles to hold on. And not in a good way."

Santana sneakily looks to her left and sees Brittany smirking slightly.

Rachel cocks her head to the side. "I wish I could yell at you for saying slanderous things about my boyfriend but..." Her hand momentarily presses against her chest. "Well..."

Santana shakes her head. "There's seriously zero men in this damn Glee club capable of satisfying anyone other than themselves."

The others nods in agreement but Brittany shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know..." she says. "Artie was okay."

They all look at her. Santana feels a momentary rush of panic because she doesn't think she wants to hear this. Brittany shakes her head and shrugs again.

"I'm not saying he's the best I've ever had," she shakes her head. "But like... he knew what he was looking for and he was all about pleasing me instead of himself. I guess that's because sometimes it's not just his legs that don't work and it takes him a while..." Santana's brow furrows. "It took him a really long time sometimes, you know? But he did whatever he could to make sure I wasn't bored." She shakes her head and gestures at Quinn. "Right?" she asks her.

Santana's eyes dart from Brittany to Quinn to Tina to Quinn to Tina and back to Brittany. She wonders if she knows about what happened with Artie, but then... how would she?

Quinn shakes her head. "Um... I wouldn't know," she admits. "Sorry."

Santana's eyes still dart from Quinn to Tina, who stares at her hands in her lap like if she does it hard enough no one will notice she's there. The panic rises in Santana, this newfound knowledge just another thing on top of the dozens of other things she has to worry about. She slaps her hands against her thighs and draws the attention back to herself, eyes looking at Mercedes.

"What about Trouty Mouth?" she says quickly. "There's got to be a reason why he's managed to make out with two thirds of the girls in this group."

"So delicious," Brittany nods playfully. Santana rolls her eyes.

"I think you're the only one that's slept with him," Quinn says, waggling her eyebrows.

Santana points at her, matter-of-fact. "Not true," she says like she's talking about the weather. "I shook hands with Mr Happy and he played with the twins. As far as I know, the kid was a virgin before Wheezy got her hands on him."

A round of gasps go around the room. Brittany's eyes widen as she lets out a "woah".

"Say it a little louder, Satan," Mercedes spits. She shakes her head. Her eyes lower to her hands and Santana feels that tug inside her that's slowly becoming more and more familiar the more time she spends with these clowns. She watches the smile that had been on Mercedes' face a mere moment before drop into complete sadness. "We didn't do it," she shakes her head. "We couldn't. I couldn't. He couldn't. We just... it didn't feel right." She turns to Rachel and shakes her head. "That thing you were talking about... how it didn't feel right? It was like that but I just... none of it felt right. Being with him started to not feel right..." She shrugs. "We broke up."

Rachel's the first to outstretch a consoling hand. Quinn's next, jumping up from the floor to go stand at the other side of her so she can wrap her arms around her. She pulls her close.

"He's just a boy," Quinn says and Santana twitches at the words for reasons she can't understand. She takes them and locks them away in this pile of things in her brain that's slowly building up. "At least you can be happy that you're not the only one who's not getting any action," she giggles. "Well, except for Tina... but she's always getting action."

Four sets of eyes turn to Tina then and when they all narrow in concern, Santana turns to look at her. Her eyes narrow too, if not more and she turns softly to get a better look at her. Her eyes still stare at her hands and tears slowly wash down her cheeks. Her face is pale and Rachel's jumping off the washer to go to her before Santana can think, Brittany following her as Tina's face crumples in more anguish.

"Tina?" Rachel says and Brittany strokes Tina's hair from her face and holds her tightly. Santana's brain works more quickly than she thought it could to try and prevent whatever's about to happen. It's kinda hard when she doesn't know what it is. She thinks of a million things and all of them are worse than the one prior.

Santana watches as she curls tighter into herself, as the rest of the girls slowly tighten themselves around her to support her and stop her crying. She whimpers in a way that Santana's so familiar with but has also never sounded so terrified and upset. She pulls into herself tighter in her place on the floor, trying to seclude herself, but the arms around her urge her to stay where she is.

She looks up at them, distraught.

"Can I tell you guys something?" she cries steadily. Her wide, frightened eyes look around her, desperate for help.

Santana doesn't feel bad that she doesn't feel any sympathy whatsoever. She can tell what's coming, she knows deep down inside of her that there's no question what this is about, and because of that she knows there are other people she needs to protect. But the others nod at Tina and tell her that she can tell them anything if it will help.

Her brow furrows as she shakes her head. She looks torn and overwhelmed and like she can't believe the words that are going to leave her mouth. Santana wants to snap, wants to step up and stop her. She wants to grab her by the wrist and pull her away from them, wants to tell her that what's done is done – it's over – and she doesn't give a crap about her guilt, because it's just going to end up making things worse.

She's too late, however, when Tina's mouth opens and she hears the last words she expected to hear.

"I think I'm pregnant."

And, right away, it isn't over at all... it's only just beginning.

/

Anxious, Santana taps her foot against the floor as quietly as she can as she listens to Tina talk. Her eyes haven't left Quinn since the revelation left her mouth. She's still waiting for her to move. She can almost hear the whirring of her thoughts around her head from over here.

She doesn't know how to go over there and tell her not to worry.

She feels like it would be too hypocritical right now.

"I mean..." Rachel starts awkwardly. "Are you sure?"

"It could have been a stork..." Brittany says, her voice laced with panic that instantly prickles up Santana's spine. She's torn, too torn, between whether to look away from Quinn and look at Brittany or not. "They have those in Florida, right?"

She sees Tina shake her head out of the corner of her eye. "I'm late," she shrugs. "I'm never late. I've _never_ been late."

Santana sees Quinn's eyes flicker at the words and she can see the memories in her eyes, flickering crystal clear like they happened yesterday instead of a year ago. Instinctively, she jumps down from the dryer and takes a tentative step towards her, hoping not to startle her.

She doesn't, of course.

Quinn's not even in the room anymore, buried in her head beneath a mountain of memories and fears, regrets and irredeemable mistakes.

"Were you not safe?" Rachel asks softly.

Mercedes nods. "Yeah," she says. "I thought you guys were always safe."

Tina shifts and her shoulders bang against the metal of the dryer. "I don't know what happened," she says and it's barely a whisper. "I've been..." she starts. "We've been getting so drunk..." she chokes. "I've been... Things have been so hard between us that sometimes..."

Quinn's jaw clenches and Santana takes another step towards her as her face grows so tight Santana's sure she's going to burst into tears or explode. Santana shakes her head at her, warning her against something she isn't sure of. She can't speak, she knows Quinn would never forgive her if she did. All she can do is watch her and make sure she's okay.

"I didn't mean to," Tina starts sobbing. Santana finds herself torn between watching Quinn, making sure Brittany's okay and needing to punch Tina in the face. "It's not my fault... I didn't do it on purpose."

Santana scoffs and shakes her head. "Except, you made the decision to get drunk and act like an idiot. So, yeah, it kinda is your fault you're in this mess. Come on, Quinn."

She grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the room slowly. It's not until they're back in the kitchen that she remembers Brittany. She deliberates for a moment, but she doesn't go back.

/

She tells Quinn to grab her jacket, they're leaving, when they're intercepted by Artie.

"Where are you going?" he asks frantically. "It's not safe. It's not safe to leave."

Santana scoffs. "Calm down, Robinson Crusoe. It's not like we're going to drift out to sea, never to return. It's not even really storming yet and it won't be until tonight."

"It's still not safe!"

Santana glances to her side and sees Quinn, almost shaking with whatever's going on in her head. Santana thinks back to New Orleans, to the freak out Quinn had in the hotel before they went for dinner, and doesn't know how to calm her down without telling Artie what Tina just told them.

"Listen, we're going to get supplies, just in case," she says pulling him towards her a little and away from Quinn. She doesn't want him to see. "We will be an hour," she says. "One hour and if we're not back you have my permission to put on a damn search party, but until then... calm your shit." She turns to Quinn and grabs her purse before Artie can say anything. "Come on, Fabray," she says and then she's dragging her out into the rain.

/

"Talk to me," she says as she drives slowly, weary of the wind flipping them or some crazy shit like that, and purposely navigates them in the opposite direction she should be going.

Quinn doesn't say anything. Santana shakes her head and glances to her quickly. She's still just sat there, passively letting everything happen around her.

"Quinn, goddamn it, talk to me," she hisses. "I know Artie slept with Tina."

That seems to snap her out of it and she turns to Santana in a daze, eyes blinking away the film she'd been looking through. "W-what?"

"Artie told me," she says as she turns the car steadily into a sheet of rain that sounds like it should be breaking the window screen. "Round about the same time he was telling me how much he likes you."

Quinn shakes her head. "I-I can't..."

Santana doesn't give her a chance to talk. "Do you want to tell him?" she asks. "Do you think we should?"

"No."

Santana nods. "Right. Okay." They drive for a while before Santana pulls up outside a drugstore and puts the car in park, peering to see if it's still open. It is, of course, because this storm will end up being nothing. She turns to Quinn. "If I go in there and buy Tina a pregnancy test, are you going to freak out?" she asks. "Because either way, we have to find out if this is real and if she is, I think Artie _should_ know."

"No," Quinn says again.

Santana's brow furrows. "No?"

Quinn shakes her head and, strangely, she smiles. "You don't get it, do you? If she's pregnant, it could be Artie's – "

"I know that..."

"It could be Artie's and if we tell him that, we ruin his life," Quinn says softly. "We ruin his life and we ruin Tina and Mike's lives too." Her head shakes softly. "I learned from that mistake before."

Santana narrows her eyes and looks at her better, tries to see if she's being serious. "Quinn..."

"I know," Quinn nods and there are tears in her eyes. "I know... but Artie's got big dreams. He wants to go to Harvard or Princeton or some huge school and become something. He wants to do things and he can't do that if he's got to be a dad. He's like Finn, Santana... he won't abandon her. He won't know how to." Santana looks at her and she wants to disagree but she can't. "Sometimes ignorance is bliss and I plan to stick to that until anything else happens. It's not my place to say anything."

Santana looks at the determination in her eyes before Quinn leans her head against the seat and closes them. She steps out of the car quietly, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head as she goes. It's not until she's holding a pregnancy test in her hand and waiting in line at the counter, that her mind sparks and an idea kicks in.

/

Quinn heads for her room the second they get back to the house. Santana's about to follow but she hears the door slam and thinks better of it. Maybe giving her some time alone will be a good thing.

Still, Artie catches her at the bottom of the stairs and looks at her with a frown.

"What's wrong?" he says softly. "What's happening?"

Santana puts a hand out to stop him. She takes a few steps away, convincing herself that she should stay quiet and that keeping her thoughts to herself will be better, before she turns back. She can't do it; she knows he'd tell her if the situation were reversed.

"I think I know what's wrong with Quinn," she whispers softly, and then she's darting up the stairs before he can respond.

/

She searches the bookshelves on the first floor before she does anything else. She knows the boys are probably still arguing over Halo and that the girls are probably still doing the laundry. She knows that Quinn is upstairs and Artie is probably stewing with worry downstairs.

She goes through books and books of her grandparents, books she used to pick up and read on days like this when she was a kid and look at the pictures, convincing herself that she could be a doctor like her parents and her grandpa. They remind her of a life she's not sure she wants anymore, but she might have to force herself to have, but she piles them into her arms anyway and carries them up to her room.

/

She doesn't read them until later that night, avoiding everyone else all day anyway and not saying a word in favor of concentrating on making dinner. No one talks to her anyway, too scared that she might snap again.

She heads up to bed early, doesn't tell anyone where she's going and starts flicking through the books she found when someone knocks at the door.

Her mouth is open, ready to shout, when Brittany's head pokes through the door. Her heart instantly drops and she feels guilty for forgetting about her all day.

"Hi," she says nervously. Brittany just walks in, already dressed in her jammies, hair still wrapped up with the headscarf, and looks at the books in front of her.

She frowns. "Medical textbooks?" she asks instead of saying anything else. "What for?"

Santana shakes her head. "It's... for a thing."

Brittany nods before perching down at the edge of the bed. "Where did you take Quinn earlier?"

Santana shakes her head. "Oh, just... to the drugstore and the market," she says. "I got... I got Tina a pregnancy test and we had to pick up some other things too." Brittany nods again, even though it looks like she'd rather be shaking her head instead. "Did I miss anything after I left?"

"Tina cried for a while," Brittany says. "She said that Mike knows and he blames himself too. They both do... it's just... it isn't fair, you know?"

Santana frowns at that. "Why is it not fair?" she asks softly. "If she's pregnant, then..."

Brittany looks up and nods. She nods and her hand reaches across the mattress to stop Santana before she can say anything else. "I know. I know that..." she nods. "I know, because... I know that you're mad at everyone right now. I'm just..." she looks up at Santana and shakes her head. "It's just not fair that nothing's ending up how it should be."

Santana feels guilty instantly. Her body slumps and she feels guilty for just leaving Brittany behind. She should have taken her too but, her head was to wrapped in on fixing and looking after everything around her so that she wouldn't be disappointed, she forgot to actually look after Brittany.

"I know," she nods, because she also feels like Brittany's not just talking about Mike and Tina, but them, _especially _them, and everyone else. "I know," she repeats. "I'm sorry."

Brittany shakes her head and starts closing all the books in front of Santana, piling them up before she moves them off the side of the bed.

"Britt..." Santana starts because she was determined to find an answer tonight. "Britt, I was..."

Brittany shakes her head. "No," she says. "I just... I don't want you to do anything or say anything. I just want you to shut up worrying for a while and fall asleep with me."

The covers are wrapped around them before Santana can stop her, Brittany's body forcefully draped over hers as her head rests over Santana's chest. She gives in quickly, her hand moving to rest atop Brittany's head, and settles.

Brittany snuggles closer to her and her hands hold on so tightly it almost hurts.

"I just want you to hold me, okay?" she whispers. "That's all you need to do."

/

She barely sleeps and spends the whole night running through a million things in her head as Brittany's sleepy body anchors her to the bed, making it impossible to move.

She wakes up after a dozing, to gentle kisses being pressed to her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. Brittany's still looking at her with a look Santana doesn't want to understand.

She kisses Brittany just to make it go away and thinks that everything's better when Brittany manages to get her down to her underwear without her freaking out. But she never gets to figure out if it really is because someone starts shouting her name from downstairs.

Brittany rolls off of her before she can push her away and Santana doesn't say anything, just rolls over to press a gentle kiss to her lips, before she jumps out of bed.

/

Santana's been through worse storms that this one. It just rains and the wind picks up until it's whistling a little. It doesn't stop her friends from being complete wimps, though, and there's a point somewhere in the middle of it, the next day, where they all congregate in the living room while the eye of the storm passes over.

Artie shakes in his wheelchair a little, clinging to the wheels and Santana stands in the kitchen, making everybody hot cocoa while they jump at the occasional heavy bangs against the side of the house from the trees. They cling to each other and she shakes her heads at them, but can't stop herself from being amused.

It keeps her mind preoccupied from the fact that Quinn's barely been out of her room since they got back from the drugstore. It makes her worry and she tells herself that it's just Quinn's way of staying away from Artie. It helps and she's glad that it's not worse. She's glad that Quinn still comes downstairs for meals and lets her come in when Santana goes to take her coffee or cocoa. She's glad that it looks like Quinn has just been laying there on her bed. She knows it could be worse.

/

"Are you going to tell me?" Brittany asks her later that night, when they're watching _Married... with Children_.

Santana's nose is still buried inside the books she found the day before, searching aimlessly. Her eyes barely glance up at Brittany as she speaks. "Hmm?"

Brittany pauses and her hand reaches over to touch Santana's, to try and get her attention.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asks softly. "With Quinn and everything? Did you even give Tina the pregnancy test yet?"

That _does_ get Santana's attention. She lifts her head and looks over at Brittany carefully. "I, uh, I didn't get around to it yet."

Brittany shakes her head at the look on her face. She laughs a little and her cheeks pink. "There's something you're not telling me," she chuckles mirthlessly. "There's something..."

Santana shakes her head, reaching for her. "It's nothing," she shakes her head. "It's nothing."

Brittany looks at her like she wants to believe her, but Santana can see it shrinking slowly behind her eyes. She reaches for her, takes her hand and nods reassuringly. There's no need to worry Brittany any more. It would just make things worse.

"Everything's fine," she nods. "Everything's fine.

/

She wakes up at 5am, after a couple of hours sleep, and it's still raining.

Brittany lays at the other side of the bed, almost falling off the edge. Santana stands and walks around the edge of it so that she can urge her back to the middle, handing Brittany a pillow when she instantly grabs for something to hold onto.

Her feet are quiet as she wanders downstairs. She feels the box, tucked into the back of her shorts, just in case, and the corner scratches at her spine with every step she takes. She looks around the house curiously, checking to make sure that no one's awake, before she wanders through to Tina and Mike's room.

Mike isn't there. Santana's not sure he's slept there for a couple of nights now; she's seen him emerge from the pool house behind the other boys instead of behind Tina like normal. That's the only reason Santana's here.

She stands at the foot of the bed for a moment before she steps closer to Tina to see her sleeping in a way that doesn't really look peaceful at all. Her brow remains furrowed and she cuddles a pillow to her chest too. Santana takes a deep breath and thinks of Brittany and Quinn, knowing that this is something she needs to do if they're ever going to get over this mess.

"Tina," she whispers, gently pressing a hand to her arm. Bleary eyes open and blink at her, confusion and panic bleeding together as she rolls onto her back. "It's... Nothing's wrong," Santana tells her. "I just... I got you this at the store yesterday."

She hands her the box and it takes a moment before Tina's eyes widen and register what she's holding.

"Santana, I..."

Santana shakes her head. "I don't care, okay?" Tina's brow furrows and Santana goes on. "I don't care if you're sorry or you're grateful. I just want you to take this test and figure this shit out, okay?"

Tina looks at her for a moment, but then she nods. Santana's brow furrows. "I also want to tell me if you were safe..."

"I already – "

"I want you to tell me you were safe when you slept with Artie," she finishes and Tina's face drops as her mouth opens. Her brow furrows and she goes to speak again but Santana stops her. "It doesn't matter how I know. Were you safe with him?"

Tina pauses and looks away. When she shrugs her shoulders, Santana's knuckles go white from holding back from grabbing a pillow and smothering her.

"I think so?" she shrugs again. "I was upset and... it wasn't exactly the best sex in the world. I don't really remember it. The condom could have broke, but I didn't –"

Santana's almost nose to nose with her in a second. "Wrong answer," she says and shakes her head. "I swear to God, if your bad choices end up being the reason that Quinn gets her heartbroken and Artie messes up his future, I will _end _you, okay? I know I am the last person to judge a someone for cheating, but you have been just plain stupid."

"Santana – "

"Deal with it," Santana says with no room to argue. "Before you fuck up everything else."

/

She waits until Puck pulls together a make-shift movie theater in the den so they can have an afternoon of watching movies, before she excuses herself saying she's got stuff to do upstairs.

There's not enough comfy chairs, so nobody argues. She smiles at Brittany where she's snuggled up with Quinn in an armchair and hopes that it's enough to reassure her.

/

"Daddy?" she says softly, eyes on her bedroom door, one ear listening carefully for any movement that isn't her own awkward and nervous shuffling on the chair.

"Hi, Cookie," he says brightly. "It's about time you called," he jokes. "What's up?"

Santana looks at the door again and shakes her head. She needs his reassurance. There's no point in chickening out because she's scared he'll validate her own ridiculous fears.

"Dad, is Mom with you?" she asks. "I need to talk to you both about something." She hears him shift and she knows he's expecting the worse already. "It's about Quinn," she elaborates and his sigh makes her worried before she's even opened her mouth.

/

Her hands are shaking when she steps back downstairs, a mix of guilt and terror swelling inside of her. She reaches the living room and her eyes search for Quinn through the darkness before glancing around to find Artie looking back at her.

His brow furrows but Santana shakes her head instantly, stepping over to the chair that Brittany shares with Quinn and perching on the arm.

"Room for one more?" she whispers and they both just shift until Santana can squeeze between them.

Brittany tugs the blanket over them in the chill left behind from the storm, and Santana doesn't pause in finding her hand beneath it. It takes her a second, before she searches around, and finds Quinn's hand too.

/

It's still raining but it's not storming, but Brittany still wanders into her room that night and settles herself in beside her.

Her eyes stare at the TV where it plays and she's so in her head she's not even sure what's happening. Not even the way that Brittany slowly starts to stroke up her arms can pull her out of her thoughts, nor her gentle breathing against her ear and the kisses she presses softly against her jaw.

It's like she's not even in her body when Brittany starts kissing her, starts trailing a line of kisses around her jaw, down her neck and up to her mouth. She returns the press of Brittany's mouth lazily, and sighs when it skirts down the other side of her face and moves down her neck. She lets Brittany remove her shirt, lets her kisses dip into her cleavage, but she barely responds.

She can barely feel the way that Brittany becomes more and more unsure of her actions the less Santana reacts to them.

"You okay?" Brittany asks, lifting her head to look at her. Santana nods and Brittany laughs a little, cheeks blushing. "You kinda don't... look or feel like you're okay," she says and pulls back to look down between them, like she's making sure that it's really their bodies and not somebody else's. "Do you... want me to stop?"

Santana's eyes widen and her mind can't manage to find the functionality to produce words. Her mouth opens but nothing comes out and from the sudden look of shame and disappointment on Brittany's face, it says enough.

"I'll go back to my own room, I think," Brittany nods softly, pushing away the covers.

Santana tries to stop her, but the words don't come... neither does the want to. She just wants until the door clicks behind Brittany before burying her face into frustrated, shaky hands.

/

She watches Quinn like a hawk, trying to remember all the things her parents told her to check and see if she could notice before she jumped to conclusions.

She follows her around the house, determined to find all the things she should be seeing, despite the fact that Quinn looks a hundred times better.

The others decide to take a walk in the rain to see what's going on around the town, and Santana stays behind, no matter how many times Brittany says they can go say hi to uncle Frank. She has things to do and she needs to do them.

/

"I... I don't know, Dad," she says once she finally gets through to him. Wherever they are, they have awful service. "She's... I don't know..."

"Is she eating?"

"Yeah," she nods. "I guess, I mean... I don't know. I never paid attention to how much she was actually eating before."

"Your mom says to ask if you know if she slept last night," her dad says in response.

"I don't know, Dad," she shakes her head even though he can't see before hopelessly burying her face into her palm. "I don't know."

And it's hard to admit that, for all her attempts to prevent and fix everything, she still doesn't know what the hell is going on.

/

They all come back that evening, carrying armfuls of grocery bags and soaked to their skin with rain.

Santana hears their laughter from her place still sat on her bed and practically falls down the stairs to get to them. Her eyes instantly seek out Quinn, stood with Artie, and check every inch of her to make sure she's okay.

When she sees that she's swaying, her eyes widen and search for the culprit.

"What the – " she mumbles but she doesn't get a chance to ask because they're all moving into the kitchen.

She's about to follow after them and grab hold of Quinn and Artie when Brittany grabs her wrist with a cheerful "hey!"

"Britt..." she starts but Brittany just grabs her and holds her still by the elbows.

"I had an idea," Brittany says softly and Santana looks away from the doorway to the kitchen to look at her. Her smile is sweet and gentle, her face devoid of the same things they'd been when she left Santana's bed the night before. She looks around nervously before timidly leaning forward to press a soft kiss against Santana's lips before pulling back nervously at the way Santana tenses.

"Did you know that..." Brittany starts, tugging on the front of Santana's overalls. "in exactly one week we'll be going home?"

Santana's kind of overwhelmed by the relief that Brittany's words instantly fill her with. "One week?" she repeats.

Brittany nods cutely. "One week," she affirms. "So, I was thinking... why don't we have a party?"

Santana shakes her head. She's got no idea where this is going with this. "A party?"

"Yeah," she nods happily. "A party! Because, do you realize that it's been a week since you told everyone they couldn't have any booze?" Santana shakes her head. She didn't really care. "Well, I was thinking, we've got a week to go until we go home and we have to have boring Lima lives again... so... why don't we have a party and let everyone let their hair down and everything?" she shrugs. "Kinda like a 'YAY we lived through the storm' celebration party."

"Britt... we were always going to live through the storm," she starts but Brittany shakes her head.

"That's not the point," Brittany says, raising her brow. "What I'm saying is, don't you think we all need to let our hair down a little?"

Brittany looks at her like she's begging her to argue, to say that she's wrong and that they don't need a party, but the truth is Santana doesn't really care what they do as long as she can figure out what's wrong with Quinn. She looks at Brittany before a shout from the kitchen catches her attention.

"Sure, Britt..." she nods. "A party sounds awesome."

And then she's gone, leaving Brittany pursing her lips together in confusion.

/

She looks at Artie the minute she sees Quinn standing alone dancing while everyone moves around her.

He shakes his head straight away and Santana grits her teeth before she walks through the others to get to her.

"What have you had?" she asks, mouth practically pressed to her ear. Quinn just laughs and shakes her head. "Quinn, what have you had?" she says again.

Quinn just laughs at her and shrugs her away.

/

"You should have been watching her," she says to him quietly while Rachel and Mercedes cook something in the kitchen. Puck's already got the beer flowing and there's already a make-shift dance party going on as Mike searches to find a song on Santana's iPod.

Artie looks at her frantically. "How was I supposed to do anything?" he asks. "She walked off on her own for an hour while we were all hanging out on the pier and when she came back she was like this. I tried to get her to let me go with her but she just said she needed some time alone. I _tried_, Santana but she won't let me near her. For days, she just won't talk to me."

Santana shakes her head and looks up at Quinn, dancing around the kitchen with the others.

"Fuck!" she says, but no one hears her over the volume of the music.

/

Maybe she's crazy.

Her eyes are narrow as she stands in the corner of the house and watches her friends party around her. Kurt and Blaine dance around each other looking closer than they've done in weeks, but she doesn't notice. Rachel and Finn are ignoring each other again but she doesn't notice. Mercedes is eating like her life depends on it, but she doesn't notice. Tina and Mike are sat in the corner talking together quietly, but she doesn't even bat an eyelid. She doesn't notice Puck spiking Rachel's alcohol-free punch, Sam and Brittany dancing together or the fact that Artie's been staring at the same place she has been for almost as long as she has.

All she sees is Quinn, making sure she can count every mouthful of alcohol that she takes.

She's not going to let her out of her eye sight, whether she likes it or not.

/

"I think you've had enough," she says grabbing the bottle from her hand.

Quinn scoffs. "I don't think you've had any," she says, giggling at her own joke.

Santana shakes her head. "Quinn, come on..."

Quinn grabs the bottle out of her hands and opens it before Santana can stop her. "I'm fine, Santana," she bites and pushes her out of the way.

/

Brittany grabs her by the arm and pulls her into the throng of their dancing friends.

"Come dance with me," she sing-songs and Santana laughs a little at how cute and tipsy she is, her body swaying more now that music and booze are combined. Her arms wrap around Santana's neck and she pulls her close... probably too close.

She gives her a smile and takes her arms from around her neck. "I can't, Britt..."

"No, nooooo," Brittany pouts. "Come dance with me, and I'll make you smile..." she smiles herself trying to get her arms back around Santana to hold her close.

Santana keeps hold on her hands, steadfast in her refusal to let her. "I gotta go find Quinn and Artie," she whispers. "I gotta go," she says nodding resolutely.

Brittany just sighs and drops her hands, moving away.

/

"Tell me what's going on," he demands.

Santana stops outside her grandfather's study and pulls back a little when she hears Quinn's laugh. She sighs with relief, having looked everywhere for her for over half an hour with no luck.

Quinn laughs again, low and not really amused at all. She sounds extra drunk and a little something else that Santana recognizes but doesn't want to.

"Nothing's going on," she says softly.

Artie scoffs, anguished and frustrated. Santana gets that, she _feels_ that and she shakes her head as she rests back against the wall just outside the door.

"Of course something's going on," Artie says angrily. "Something is _always _going on and I want to know what it is, okay? I wanna know because I'm so sick of being left in the dark, okay? It happened with Brittany and it happened with Tina..."

Santana thinks she hears Quinn wince at the name.

"I _like_ you, Quinn," Artie says like it's a huge secret. "I really like you, okay? And if I'm going to lose you before I've even really gotten you then I want to know why. I think I deserve that much."

Santana chooses that moment to make her presence known then. She steps around the door and sees how they're stood, facing each other at opposite ends of the rectangle rug that covered the entire floor in front of her grandpa's desk. Quinn's arms remain folded and she glances up at Santana as she appears and shakes her head.

She sees something different there, a change, and she can feel it's sharp daggers piercing at her before anything else. She prepares herself for it, readying her body for the impact of whatever words Quinn opens her mouth to speak, but steps forward hoping she might have enough time to protect Artie.

She doesn't and it feels like the scales inside of her are so uneven she can barely think straight.

"I just... I don't think it's going to work out," Quinn shakes her head and reaches for the open beer on the desk beside her. She takes a mouthful and laughs a little. She looks so bitter and dejected it confuses Santana as much as it confuses Artie. "I don't think that I can be with you when Tina might be carrying your baby..."

Artie chokes on whatever air might have been in his lungs. Santana's stepping up beside him as quick as she can, shaking her head at Quinn because this isn't fair.

"What?"

Quinn doesn't say anything and Santana rests her hand on his shoulder and squeezes softly. "Tina... thinks she's pregnant."

His eyes widen and he tries to breathe in but it looks like he can't manage it. She shakes her head at him to urge him to keep calm but it doesn't work, he spins on his wheels to look at her and he looks so betrayed that Santana's brow furrows in confusion.

"You _knew_?" he gasps out. "You've known this for how long and you couldn't _tell_ me?"

Her heart clenches tightly. "Artie..."

"I could understand if it was _her_," he jerks his head towards Quinn. "She wouldn't want to burden me with it. But _you_? You knew and you didn't have the decency to tell me?"

"Artie..." Her voice is a little higher and she leans down to look at him in the eye and level with him.

"No," he spits. "No," he chokes and Santana thinks he might be in shock because he's shaking. "No, don't talk to me. Don't _either_ of you talk to me."

When he's left, Santana stands up and, beyond all the worry for Quinn she feels burning through her body, she's never felt so ashamed and disgusted than at this moment.

"What the fuck happened to your grand plan not to worry him unless you need to, huh?" Santana wants to push her, wants to shove her and she doesn't know why she cares so much. "What the _fuck_ happened to that?"

Quinn just shakes her head and grabs her beer.

"Fuck you, Santana," she sighs. "It's none of your business."

/

It took her a minute, but once she realized that Quinn had left and she was just stood in her Grandfather's study fuming with anger, her feet were finally moving.

"Where's Quinn?" she shouts at Puck as she walks back into the kitchen. He stares at her for too long. "Dammit, Puckerman, where's Quinn?"

"Woah, God, she went upstairs."

She storms up the stairs, looks in every room on the first floor, before she storms up to the second and heads straight for Quinn's room. The door's locked and her shoulder aches as it crashes into it.

"Quinn! Open this goddamn door right now and talk to me!"

She waits for an answer before she starts banging on the door. The only response she gets is the sudden sound of music coming from the room.

"I swear to God, Quinn, I will kill you..." she bangs against the door, regardless of the pain she feels in her shoulder and her fists. "I will fucking kill you because at this point I'm sure it's the only way I won't have to deal with all your shit anymore!"

She bangs her fists against the door until she's sure that it or her fists are going to break, until the skin that covers her knuckles is red with the threat of splitting and numb from the pain. Still, Quinn doesn't open the door or tell her to go away but she doesn't stop until the energy in her gives out.

She kicks it a couple of times before slapping it once more. "Fuck you, Quinn," she says and then she's turning on her heels.

/

She's heaving with anger when she enters the kitchen. Puck's still stood there, stood at the counter, mixing something in a cocktail shaker from new bottles of liquor.

"Where is everyone?" she asks.

He cocks his head towards the living room. "Still dancing."

"Did you see Artie?" she asks, rubbing the backs of her hands. She steps towards the sink, turning on the faucet and running her hands underneath the cold water.

Puck narrows his eyes at her curiously. "He must be with everyone else," she shrugs. "He's not been in here."

/

She looks through them all, still dancing in the dark of the barely lit room and can't see him.

"Have you seen Artie?" she asks Rachel when she accidentally bumps into her.

"He's not in here," Rachel says as Finn catches up to her and wraps his arms around her waist drunkenly. "Finn, have you seen Artie? Santana's looking for him," she says drunkenly.

Finn shakes his head. "Is he not with Quinn?" he asks, Santana shakes her head, still looking around for him. "Well, maybe he went to play Xbox. He almost beat his high score earlier."

She rolls her eyes but thanks him anyway.

/

She pauses to smoke a cigarette before she goes to find him. She clutches her umbrella against the wind and tries to think a way to explain without him getting angry again.

She doesn't know why, but she thinks they must be friends.

She inhales from the cigarette too quickly, barely letting it leave her lips before it's back against them. She's just so mad, so damn angry at everything and everyone.

She's about to throw the cigarette onto the ground and use the anger as momentum to talk to him, to confront him about Quinn and Tina and this thing she thinks she knows but isn't entirely sure of, when she hears something that sets her instantly on edge.

Her body turns, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she steps forwards towards the pool house. She's about to open the door and step inside when she hears it again, louder and breathier than before. Her heart sinks because it knows what that sound is. It's the sound that makes it beat that little bit faster, makes it grow just that little bit bigger when the person who makes it is around.

She pulls back, hand letting go of the handle and, instead, moves to the window. Her brow furrows as she rubs the condensation from the glass while her heart screams for her to stop and step away. It isn't loud enough to drown out her head as it tells her she needs to look because otherwise it'll drive her crazy.

She doesn't realize that by making sure she's not crazy, she's only going to break her heart.

/

She used to have these dreams, when they weren't together and when she was with Artie, of what it was like when she was with them. She used to torture herself with images of what she looked like, if she looked different, irrationally jealous of whether or not they could make her do the things that Santana wanted to be the only one to make her do.

They got worse, transformed and evolved into manifestations of her own never-ending fears once Brittany broke up with Artie. They turned into just more nagging worries, showed to her by her subconscious. They were images of Brittany with someone else, having found someone better, someone who could deal better with what she wanted. Santana was sure that it was just her brain's way of telling her that she needed to get her shit together, that she needed to do whatever she could to keep Brittany hers.

She never actually thought that they could be possible. She never knew that they could come true.

She never knew that it would look like this.

Her heart catches in her throat at the sight of them, she drops the umbrella at her side, forgotten, as her hand reaches to press against the glass, over the image of Brittany sat astride Sam, kissing him like Santana doesn't even exist.

She wants to cry but she can't. She knows that the tears would only obscure her from watching this and making sure it's real. It's almost perverse, how she can't look away but it's true. Her eyes remain glued to where Sam sits on the couch, Brittany straddling him as they tear at each other's clothing.

His hands touch places Santana thought only she was allowed to touch now. His lips press kisses to places where Santana knows he would be able to feel the thumping of Brittany's erratic pulse beneath them. She wants to hit the window and stop Sam as he starts yanking at Brittany's shirt, pulling it over her head, she wants to kill him when he starts to remove unbutton Brittany's shorts, his hands stroking up her abs to cup over her breasts.

But her heart keeps telling her head, over and over, as their mouths work together, that Santana has no right to do this. She has no right to shout at him, to hate Brittany, because Brittany isn't hers. She _shouldn't _feel so cheated and betrayed when all she's been doing for weeks is reminding Brittany that they can't be together yet.

She's frozen to the floor, her body anchored to ground by the weight of her own wrongdoings. Tears start silently streaming down her cheeks when Brittany tangles her fingers in short blond hair and pulls him to her to kiss him furiously.

She thought that was something she'd never have to see again.

That's the last of her worries when she's making Sam help her pull down her shorts, when she's pushing her hand between them and wrapping her hand around him.

That's something she thought she'd never have to see at all.

She sobs out at the sight of it and regrets it instantly. Her hand moves to muffle the cries that leave the deepest, darkest part of her at the same time that Brittany's head darts around, hearing the sound.

Santana shakes her head at her as dark blue eyes grow wide and shocked, as she falls backwards off of Sam and scrambles to the window to stop Santana as she slowly starts to retreat back towards the house.

"No," Santana hears her say. "No, Santana, wait... no!"

But she's already gone, feet unsteady, as she steps away.

/

She runs into Quinn as she's coming down the stairs, but she just shakes her head at her, unable to deal with her.

Quinn's eyes narrow at her tears but she doesn't give her a chance to ask why she's crying, not when she can hear Brittany calling after her over the top of the loud pulsing music.

She just runs as fast as she can to her room and whimpers like she's been burned when Brittany grabs her right outside her room.

_Story of my life_, she thinks bitterly as Brittany tries to get her to look at her. _Always so near but yet still so far. _

"Santana, wait," she begs, her hands clutching at the back of Santana's overalls as Brittany steps in front of the door, forcing her to try and two-step her way around her. "Please, please, I didn't... I don't – "

"Don't touch me," Santana chokes. "Don't touch me!"

Brittany pulls her hands away like she's been burned but she shakes her head at Santana. "You have no right..." she whispers. "No right to be mad at me..."

Santana's raises her eyebrows, trying to remember how to breathe. She stumbles backwards until she's far enough away from Brittany that she can't reach her.

"You have no right to be mad at me," Brittany repeats. "I'm not your girlfriend, Santana... I want to be, I want to be more than I think you know, but I'm not, so you can't get mad at me for wanting someone to notice me. You haven't been."

Santana looks up at her and screws up her face, ready to argue. If only she could find the words.

Brittany's face softens. "It didn't mean anything," she shrugs. "I just... I just wanted someone to notice me. I wanted to make _you_ notice me. You've been so far away and I missed you so much. I was drunk and I was just dancing for him... it didn't mean anything," she shakes her head. "It didn't mean anything, just like when we used to have sex... sex isn't dating, remember? It wouldn't have counted."

Santana scoffs, her face dark with anger. She's been angry with Brittany many times, sometimes with good reason and sometimes with not. This is the only time she's felt like she should be beyond all of that, she should not want to talk to Brittany ever again, but she can't help herself and that makes her feel more stupid than anything else.

She thinks of all those times when she was telling Brittany that it wasn't dating, that it didn't count, that it didn't matter, but it still felt like the most important thing in the world. It felt like the only thing in her entire universe, even when she was scared and alone, and she thought Brittany thought that too, but now she's not so sure.

"S-so when did us having sex start counting, Britt Britt?" she spits spitefully. "Does it count yet? Will it ever fucking count?" She steps closer to her, voice low with breathlessness. "Or are we still meaningless?"

Brittany doesn't even blink, even though Santana's nose is almost pressed dangerously against hers. Her bottom lip quivers and Santana knows she's hit a nerve. Brittany looks deeply into her eyes and she looks back just as hard. She shrugs her shoulders and Santana knows, right then, that this is her last chance.

"You tell me," Brittany whispers and the words, quieter than anything Brittany's ever said, seem like the loudest.

Her body slumps and panic rises. Her face gives up and it contorts, not sure if it wants to remain angry or burst into sad tears. A tear escapes Brittany and Santana reaches out to stroke it away.

She decides, then, to do one better. She won't just tell Brittany, she'll show her.

/

She closes the space between them, drawing a moan from Brittany's mouth as her hands reach up to cup her cheeks and bring them closer together. Their lips kiss together and Santana holds them like that, determined to wipe the doubt from her lips, her mouth, the hollow places inside of her where it resides and replace it with the words she can't say. Brittany takes the kiss, welcome to the touch as she reaches up to clutch at Santana's wrists to keep them on her cheeks.

Strangely, the first thing that she says when they part is not what she thought she'd say.

"I can taste him on you," she whimpers like it's the worst thing she can imagine. At that moment, she guesses it is.

Brittany's lips part and she shifts one hand from Santana's wrist to her cheek. She pulls them together, kisses her in the same innocent rough way before letting her go. "I can only taste you."

It doesn't really make sense how it consoles her but it does and she doesn't care. She pulls Brittany to her again and kisses her furiously, determined to replace that unfamiliar taste with herself. She doesn't care how long it takes. Brittany arches against the bedroom door, her hand moving to clutch at Santana and keep her close as she kisses her better than she thought she knew how.

She pulls away as she searches for the door handle behind Brittany. Her head shakes and her thumbs stroke over Brittany's cheeks. She kisses her once before she manages to get the door open and she pushes Brittany back through it, kicking it behind her, as she presses soft and delicate kisses to her lips until Brittany's feet start to give up on her.

"From the first time," she whispers. "From then and every time after... it's been everything," She chokes on a sob and pulls away to make sure Brittany's listening. "You and this have always been the best thing that ever happened to me, okay?" Brittany looks at her. "The best thing, do you understand me?"

Brittany's lips quiver and Santana kisses it instantly as she guides her to the bed and sits her down. She straddles her thighs, and keeps cupping her cheeks as Brittany looks at her like she doesn't know if she means it or not.

"Please," she begs because she doesn't know what else she's meant to say. "Please, Britt... I mean it. You mean everything to me and I'm sorry I never made you believe that before, I'm sorry I was an asshole who made you believe it didn't mean anything but it does. It does, baby. You and me mean everything, okay?"

Brittany nods and her hands reach up to pull Santana in to kiss her as she falls backwards, horizontal against the bed. Santana kisses her slowly, moves to kiss away the few tears that cover her cheeks.

"I'm going to be everything you want me to be," she sobs, pulling back to look at her, desperate to see Brittany's eyes. They widen at her words and look at her with wonder. "I promise I will be."

Brittany nods and fingers stroke away her tears as Brittany pulls her in for another kiss, deeper and more desperate than before. Santana quickly regrets not saying the words sooner. Her hands explore every feature of Brittany's face, mouth following fingers as she maps them out and converts them to new muscle memory. Brittany holds her close, panting as Santana's kisses linger down her neck, trying to wipe away all the kisses that Sam left behind.

"No one should kiss you but me," she whispers as she pulls away, her hand beneath the collar of Brittany's jean shirt, moving it down until she can unfasten the buttons and part the fabric to reveal Brittany's skin. Her kisses are sporadic and gentle as she reveals naked breasts and the long expanse of Brittany's stomach. She strokes her fingers all over her, like she's wiping out the marks on a chalkboard, and kisses her slowly, not pulling away until she can't breathe.

/

Brittany looks confused when she slowly climbs off of her, leaning up on her elbows as Santana moves to stand at her feet. The music from downstairs cuts out and she barely glances at it as she begins taking off her overalls, pushing them into a pile at her feet. She follows it with her t-shirt and then her bra and underwear and enjoy how Brittany's eyes go wide at the sight of her. She stands in front of her and stares, trying to tell her that this is it, this is her and this is what she's offering. She's glad when Brittany's exhale is shaky, that Santana can see her pupils dilate even more at the sight of her.

Shaky arms support Brittany as she leans up even further and Santana jumps forward to push the shirt the rest of the way down her arms. She bundles it in her hands and tosses it aside as Brittany looks between them to look down at her body before looking up into her eyes. Their mouths collide for a moment, desperate and determined in a way that Santana's sure Brittany doesn't know the full extent of yet. She watches as Santana begins to trail her mouth slowly down her neck, over her shoulders, over every inch of her chest. She kisses over her stomach, maps out new paths as she slowly makes her way down the bed and parts Brittany's thighs. She kneels between them at the edge of the bed and looks up at her.

Her heart thumps in her chest and her head buzzes with a million thoughts that she's glad are all Brittany. Her hands rest on firm things and she swallows nervously because this is what she needs to do. Not just to make Brittany believe how much she means, how much she wants her, but because how much Santana needs to. She's so sick and tired of refusing herself the things she wants and she doesn't want to regret it. If something happens and she ends up losing Brittany, she doesn't want to know what this is like. She doesn't want to have to spend the rest of her life wondering.

(She doesn't want to have to spend the rest of her life remembering, either.)

It isn't surprising that her hands are shaking when they reach to pull down Brittany's shorts and underwear down her legs.

This could still go completely wrong, after all. It might work in showing Brittany how serious she is, but it could also end up showing her how inept she is, too.

It doesn't help that Brittany's just leaning up on her elbows looking at her in confusion. She presses her hands to Brittany's hip, stroking her thumbs over soft skin and tightens her grip on Brittany until she can pull her further down the bed, until Santana can smell her.

Brittany sits back suddenly, her hands on Santana's shoulders as Santana innocently looks up at her. "W-what are you doing?" she says, nervously shaking her head and trying to form a smile.

Santana leans forward and presses kisses low on Brittany's stomach, around her belly button, before she looks up at her through earnest eyes. "What I should have been doing from the beginning..." she whispers.

Her brow furrows even deeper in confusion until it relaxes and her mouth parts in understanding. Santana kisses her perfect knees and the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. They drift slowly upwards until Brittany's pushing at her shoulders again, face contorted with a mix of nerves and embarrassment.

"You're..." she whispers, shaking her head quickly. "No one's ever..." She looks away and it's Santana's turn to look at her with confusion then. She reaches up to turn Brittany's face back to her but she can't quite catch Santana's eyes. She shrugs like it's nothing. "No one's ever..."

Santana's eyes widen. "What? She asks in disbelief. "Why?"

Her head shakes and Santana makes sure she keeps Brittany looking at her with the hands on her cheeks as she kneels up, level with her eyes.

"I don't know," Brittany mumbles. "I-I never wanted to let them." She shrugs and sighs. "I've always saved my firsts for you..."

A sob chokes in her throat but she swallows it away. She pulls Brittany to her until their noses press together and kisses her again, doesn't stop until they're flat to the bed again.

/

They kiss lazily until Santana feels the nerves oozing slowly away from both of them. Their hands wander innocently until Santana pulls back and looks at Brittany and knows that she can move again.

She restarts her path down Brittany's body steadily, watching as Brittany leans up the more she moves down. Her hands grip tightly at Brittany's thighs as she resettles herself on the floor between her legs and pulls her hips back down to the edge of the mattress. Brittany licks her lips when Santana urges her knees wider and Santana's a little overwhelmed then.

Still, determined not to let Brittany see her waver, she presses a lingering kiss to Brittany's knee, closing her eyes as she relishes the feel of every bone and muscle. Her mouth slides along the skin of Brittany's thigh and she feels Brittany hitch against her. Her hands stroke up Brittany's thighs before they reach up and grip at her waist as she brings herself closer.

The smell of her is intoxicating and she remembers that barely-there taste of her she got from Brittany's mouth all those days before when she kissed her. She remembers how badly she wanted to know what it would be like to have that on her tongue, so concentrated and strong, tasting it from her directly. She feels that same unadulterated need now, as she buries her face into Brittany's pelvis and breathes her in, feeling Brittany's jolt of pleasure as hot air hits her clit.

"Santana," she whispers breathlessly, hips jolting.

There's no time to be pleased with herself, no time to smile or relish in the way that Brittany's back arches a little and her arms fail to hold her up a little. Her mouth isn't even on her yet and Santana pulls her further forward, urges her back a little until her body's better at a better angle, before she presses a pacifying kiss on Brittany's hip.

Brittany's thighs start to shake with anticipation and Santana wastes no time in pressing another kiss against Brittany's pelvis, before she presses another just a little lower, until she wastes no time at all and dips her head down to press her mouth against the softest parts of Brittany's she's ever found.

Brittany moans and Santana pauses, unsure what she's supposed to do. Her hands grip Brittany's hips tightly as she presses her mouth against her. Maybe it's enough for the moment; it sounds like it's a bit too much for Brittany and Santana's overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity against her mouth. She waits, only moving to lean back and take a deep breath in before she presses her mouth harder against her.

"Santana..." Brittany pants, voice different, lower and higher and the same time, desperate and steady in the same breath. "Santana..."

And Santana knows. She knows that Brittany needs more just as much as she needs to take her first proper taste of her. She opens her mouth, breathes in against her and pokes out her tongue to taste her for the first time. It's just like she thought it would be, sweet and something else that she can't name but feels right. Brittany moans as she dips her tongue to take a bolder taste and she copies it with her own, low guttural moan.

/

Brittany seems pleased to just let her explore, tongue teasing against all the different parts of her, finding their different textures that feel entirely different on her tongue to when they did on her fingers. Her hands stroke up Brittany's torso, feeling each shift and twitch of her body the more pressure she puts against her. Her hands linger to stroke at the base of Brittany's back and it works exactly how she wanted it to as Brittany starts bucking up into her mouth.

Hands wander over her back, stroke along her spine. She feels Brittany grasping at her shoulders, nails burying into the top of her spine. She pulls away, and shifts a little, starts kissing at Brittany's waist, her chest as she waits for Brittany to calm down a little.

"Santana," she gasps and Santana shivers at the feel of her bending forward and pressing kisses to her spine. "Santana..." she whispers. "Oh, Santana..."

It makes a moan rip from her and she lets her kisses linger back into Brittany's cleavage, hands following, as she pushes her back against the bed. Her palms curve over every inch of her, her mouth finding its way back between her legs. She kisses the creases of her thighs, finding skin that feels like silk against her tongue as she begins pulling Brittany's legs over her shoulders.

She's says nothing as she kisses over her again, lets Brittany lock her ankles at her back before she flattens her tongue against her and licks her fully. It garners a shudder that wracks through Brittany's body and into hers. Her hands stroke up Brittany's thighs, up onto her stomach, and as she reaches to pay attention to Brittany's nipples, Brittany covers her hands with her own, holding them there against her chest.

It's exactly like she thought it would be. Brittany surrounds her and engulfs her senses, makes her want more when she's not even started. Santana pants against her, her mouth working against her before she finds her clit, sucks it into her mouth and strokes her tongue against it.

"Oh, God..." Brittany pants and Santana twists her wrist until she can grab her hand. She works her mouth against Brittany, relentlessly stroking against her until she's bucking into her mouth. She works her tongue into a circle around Brittany's clit and isn't prepared for the cry that leaves her mouth. Her hand pulls away from Santana's and Santana looks up and watches her try to muffle her moans into her palm.

The sight of it sparks something deep and animal inside of her. The sound rings in her ears and she wants to hear that cry over and over again because it sounds like she understands. She pulls away and reaches for Brittany's hand, holds it tightly in her own and doesn't let go of it, even as Brittany bucks into her mouth with the struggle. Santana meets each movement with one of her own and watches as Brittany bites her lip to stop herself from making any noise.

For a moment, she wonders if Sam told the others about Santana's tears, about Brittany running after her. She wonders if they all know and, in that moment, she doesn't care. She doesn't give a crap about anything other than making Brittany believe her, so she moves her mouth lower, boldly delves her tongue inside of her and soaks in the echo of a cry that Brittany loudly releases.

"Santana..." she moans her name over and over again and Santana loves it. She loves that her name is the only word that Brittany can remember as Santana draws her higher and higher but as much as she loves the way that Brittany pushes her head lower as her body twitches, strokes her hair out of the way and holds it atop her head as she arches her back.

Fingers dig into her scalp and Santana feels her own body rocking with the need for release. She doesn't want this to end, though. She's never been more sure that this is what she wants to do for the rest of her life, so she works harder and harder to make Brittany come and, when she does, every part of her tightening dangerously around Santana, Santana doesn't stop, she works harder and harder until Brittany comes again and again.

She doesn't stop until Brittany's sobbing with the need for her to, until shaky hands are pulling her back up Brittany's body, letting her press sporadic kisses wherever she can reach. She kisses whatever she can of Brittany until Brittany's wrapping her fingers around the back of Santana's neck and kissing herself from her mouth. She moans at the taste and barely gives Santana a second, before she's disappearing down her body and mixing it with her own.

/

Santana's confused when she wakes up. At first, she thinks she was dreaming, but then she feels soft clammy skin beneath her cheek, the smoldering warmth of Brittany's sleepy body and the memories rush back to her with a clarity that means they could have only ever been real.

She blinks awake and rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

It's like a bucket of cold water poured over her, the reality of what happened overwhelming her like a chill the minute she wakes up.

She glances beside her and looks at Brittany, peaceful in sleep, and realizes that maybe things should have gone like that last night. It was probably one of those times to talk about things rather than fuck them away, but now she's got the taste of Brittany still pressed to her lips and no way to take it back.

Panic rises up her throat, bitter as bile, and she feels her body begin to shake with it. Fear and worry feel like they're clawing at her from the inside out, pulling her apart. She can't lay here. She can't just lay back and let it happen like this.

She's gasping by the time that she climbs out of the bed. She redresses quickly and quietly, tying her hair atop her head as she looks around the room at the pillows and clothes they discarded almost as thoughtlessly at the moans and cries of pleasure that left them without regard for who could hear.

Santana forgets them as she leaves the room, making sure that Brittany's still asleep, right up to the moment the door clicks behind her.

/

She's anxious as she puts on a pot of coffee, searching beneath empty red cups and napkins for her carton of cigarettes. She finds them trapped beneath an upside down cup, damp with something orange and strong smelling and taps one out until she can catch it between her lips.

She grabs herself a cup with one hand as she grabs a pack of matches with the other and puts the mug by the coffee maker before leaning against the counter and striking up the match. The first inhale doesn't calm her nearly as much as she wants it to, the second either and she's onto her second cigarette before she's even poured her coffee.

She just can't get her head around it, how she let that happen. They were all awake, they all could have heard. Somewhere towards the time where she fell asleep or just... blacked out from it all, she's pretty sure she heard them all climbing the stairs to go to bed. There's no way they didn't hear, there's no way that she can look them all in the eye anymore without them knowing everything.

She puffs harder at her cigarette, half of it practically disappearing in one inhale. She shakes her head, desperate to understand what she was thinking. She doesn't know. She just doesn't. She doesn't regret it for a second, but she just doesn't understand. There were better times to do that, more suitable and happier times when she would have been better to deal with the aftermath.

But here she is, sat in her grandmother's kitchen at six o'clock in the morning, watching the sun as it tries to rise through the rain that now falls lazily from the sky and wondering why the hell she thought it would be better to show Brittany why she meant more than Sam stupid Evans instead of telling her like a normal person.

Her heart sinks at the reminder. Sam. Brittany. She shakes her head and rubs awkwardly at her forehead.

She was going to sleep with him. She was three-quarters way to naked and ready to fuck him like she was shaking his fucking hand. She shakes her head, refusing the things that instantly begin to prickle at her brain, nagging at her to think about it. But she doesn't want to think about it. If she thinks about it she gets angry and then she starts to question and second-guess everything she knows about Brittany.

And then it's like someone flicks her in the forehead and reminds her that, if she really knew Brittany, she wouldn't have let the fact that she might be sleeping with other people while all this is going on blindside her. She would have been prepared and it wouldn't have felt like her chest was splitting down the middle when she saw her with him.

She shakes her head more, like she's forcing the bad thoughts from her head. She won't think things like that about Brittany. She won't.

But has she? Has she been sleeping with other people while Santana's been buzzing around the group, dealing with shit she shouldn't have to deal with in order to make sure that Brittany's so-called family stays intact, while she's out there sleeping with other people? Would she do that?

Santana shakes her head but the thoughts are there, planted and ready to grow. Along with everything else, from being heard, to what they did, to Quinn, to Tina, to Artie, to Rachel, to her parents and her grandma and this trip, it feels like her head's about to explode. She picks up her cigarettes and smokes another one, just because, but it doesn't make her feel any better.

/

She jumps, nerves filling her, when she hears feet. She steels herself, takes a deep breath and readies herself for the judging stares of one of her friends. It deflates the minute Quinn pokes her head around the kitchen door, hair in disarray.

"I just... I needed a glass of water," she whispers as she steps inside. "I'll leave unless you want to yell at me again."

Santana shakes her head. "I... I can't deal with that right now," she shakes her head and she's kind of glad when Quinn stops and leans back against the counter. She takes a deep breath and turns her head slightly to look at her feet. "Did they hear?"

Quinn pauses but when she nods, it feels like she's sucked out all the air in the room. Santana chokes a little and stares at Quinn's back and she leaves her alone.

/

It's like waiting for a death sentence, like whatever happens next means the end of life as she knows it. She tidies the kitchen because she can't tidy all the things that are happening inside of her head and hates herself for just adding to the gossipy drama of the rest of the group.

She hates this trip and how it's ended up.

It was meant to fix everything but all it's doing is making it a million times worse. It's adding to the list and she wishes she could just burn everything, start fresh and forget it ever happened.

She hates life for not being that easy.

/

When she hears the thunder of feet climbing quickly downs the stairs, she steels herself ready for whatever's about to happen. She throws the cloth she'd been using to wipe the counter into the skin and leans against it, knowing she'll need all the support she can get.

Doors slam open and shut, feet move frantic with the close of each one and she doesn't make herself known, just decides that maybe she can't use her legs, and eases herself around the kitchen until she can sit down in her chair.

She's lost count how many cigarettes she's smoked in the mere hour since she's been away, when Brittany throws open the door, her eyes wide and panicked.

"Where were you?" she demands an edge to her voice that Santana's not familiar with. She expects upset and tears but Brittany looks at her with anger and makes something sink inside of her.

She shakes her head. "What?"

"Where _were_ you?" Her hands stay clenched in fists at her sides, her knuckles white with how tight they are. Santana narrows her eyes. "You weren't there when I woke up."

She's lost for words, confused and she pushes her chair away from the table as she stands up to try and calm her down. She's pretty sure she was supposed to be the angry one here. She was sure she should have been making the angered demands but now Brittany is and she doesn't understand it.

"Britt... what – "

Brittany shakes her head frantically and then she shoves Santana, tears in her eyes and anger even more so. She shakes her head and shoves Santana and Santana's never been so shocked by Brittany in all the years she's known her. Never, in all the years she's known her, even when Santana used to accidentally knock her of the jungle gym when they were kids, has Brittany laid a hand on her. But here she is, shoving her as hard as she can, frustration clear in her face as Santana steps away from her, determined not to retaliate.

She's not even sure she'd know how to.

"You promised me," she shoves. "That you'd be everything I wanted you to be!" Santana's eyes widen. "You _promised_ me, Santana, and I believed you."

Santana reaches out to grab her and stop her before she hurts herself. She's not prepared for the way that Brittany's hands shove hers away.

"Stop disappointing me!" she screams, her voice hard and soft at the same time, the emotion in it too much for Brittany to bear and Santana to listen to.

She doesn't know this Brittany.

This isn't the girl she fell in love with. This isn't the girl who makes her little brighter. She looks much too much like the person who resides within Santana, the bitter, angry, disappointed person she hates so much. She hates them a little more when she realizes they've somehow managed to find their way into Brittany too.

"Britt," she shakes. "It's not -"

"No!" Brittany says. "No, you don't get to make excuses and make me believe them. I'm not stupid. I know I'm not. You may have lied about everything else but I know you meant it when you told me that. I'm not stupid and I know you're treating me like a fool and it's not fair, Santana, it's not... It's not fair to keep dragging me along like this..."

Santana scoffs. "Dragging you along like _what_?"

"You tell me you need more time to figure things out, but you're not even trying!" she says exasperatedly. "It's like one step forward, one step back... we never actually go anywhere. We're always going to be stuck, so what's the point? What's the point of us even trying? I'm looking at you now and last night you said that you were going to be everything I wanted you to be but now you're standing there and I know you're not even going to try."

Santana steps back, her eyes narrow and she shakes her head with disbelief at Brittany's words. "Brittany, you know how hard I'm trying -"

A laugh escapes her, mirthless and angry. Santana thinks back to a few months ago, to Brittany standing at a locker telling her that she does love her. If Brittany was angry then, Santana has no idea what she is now. Furious, probably. Her cheeks pink and her mouth opens and the words spew out of her like they're erupting like a volcano.

"I don't see the point anymore, Santana," she shakes her head. "You're leaving in a year. You are," she shakes her head in refusal before Santana can say anything. "You're going to California and I'm going to be stuck in Lima for the rest of my life. You've been doing all these things – encouraging me to dance and taking me to see the dolphins – but what for?"

"I..."

"You're pushing me away," Brittany says emphatically.

Santana steps closer to her. "Britt..."

"You've been doing it for days, Santana," she shrugs. "I'm not stupid."

"Brittany... no..." she shakes her head, panic and alarm bells ring in her brain and she doesn't know what to do.

"You are, Santana..." she nods and the tears choke at her voice. "And maybe you're doing it so that you don't have to do it in the end when you leave, but you could have been honest. You could have told me. I would have understood, I would have let you give up on me. We have a year, Santana. We've got a year and then it's over anyway, so what's the point. I told you I wouldn't wait forever."

Santana scoffs. "Yeah, but last time I checked forever didn't mean a couple of weeks."

"But I'm sick of waiting, Santana..." she sobs. "I'm sick of waiting for you to realize that I'm worth not being scared for anymore. I'm sick of watching you care more about everyone else but me when you say you're in love with me. I'm sick of you always being a coward."

Santana steps back, burned by the words."Yeah?" she raises her eyebrows. "Well I'm sick of you being so fucking impatient when I'm trying as hard as I can. I'm sick of you pushing me so hard all the time. There's only so far you can push me until I walk away, okay?" she steps away and for the second time in her life, she can't bear to look at Brittany. The first was when they stood at their lockers and Brittany turned her down. She soon turns back, renewed with her own anger. "God, you think this is easy for me?" she spits. "You think I enjoy fucking doing shit like this to you? That I fucking plan it? You don't get this, okay? It's not the same for you. You can go off and fucking find someone else. Who am I kidding? You _always_ go find someone else when things get hard. You fucking proved that last night!"

"You're pathetic!"

She's pretty sure it would have hurt less if she'd have slapped her. She steps back, step by step and shakes her head.

"Well, Britt Britt," she shakes her head and she can't believe this is happening. "I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment. I'm really _fucking_ sorry I can't be better for you!"

The laugh that leaves Brittany is bitter and hurt and it makes Santana flinch until Brittany looks at her with all the disappointment she was scared of instilling in the people who loved her.

"And that's your problem, Santana," she says voice level and sad. "Don't you get it? I don't want you to be better, I just want you to be _you_!"

Santana shakes her head at the words. She's not exactly the kind of person who thinks better of people – she's inherently programmed to think the worst – but she always thought better of Brittany than to be cruel. She feels like she's picked up every fear that Santana's ever told her and thrown it back in her face. She never thought Brittany could really, really hurt her, but she has and now Santana doesn't know what to think anymore.

She shakes her head and holds up her hands.

"I'm done," she says softly, voice rich with unshed tears. "I'm... I've got to get out of here..." she walks past Brittany, trying her best not to touch her on her way past. "I've got to get out of here," she repeats.

She doesn't look at the too-many sets of eyes staring at her as she walks through the house, doesn't look back as she grabs her keys and closes the door. She doesn't think twice as she gets in the car and drives as far away as she can until she hits the ocean.

/

A couple of hours, a packet of cigarettes and way too many tears later, she pulls up outside Uncle Frank's and sits on the curb.

She doesn't know how long it takes, but he walks up to open the bar a while later and pauses to sit beside her.

She clutches her empty cigarette carton in her hand and wills there to be more inside of it. She's kind of glad when Uncle Frank slips the one from the carton in his pocket and slips it between her her lips.

She buries her face in her hands once he's lit it for her and shakes her head.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," she whispers softly. His arm wraps its way around her back and brings her closer.

"Oh, Cookie," he breathes. "I don't think anyone ever really does."

/

She pulls up and puts the car in park, takes a moment to rub her eyes and try to get her head in order.

Her feet crunch against the gravel all the way up to the stairs to the porch and she concentrates on it until she can pull open the door and let herself inside.

She hears noise from the kitchen and she heads towards it. She might as well bite the bullet and get the stares over with. She's just not quite prepared for how much they stare when she gets in there.

They're all there, she counts them quickly, all there except for one. The only one she wants to speak to.

"Where's Britt?" she asks softly, voice tired.

They all look at each other and it puts her on edge. She reaches for the door frame for something to hold onto and narrows her eyes as none of them answer for long minutes, quietly debating between them.

It's Puck that speaks first.

"She's gone, Santana," he tells her.

Santana shakes her head, face scrunching in confusion. "Gone? What are you talking about? Where's she gone?"

"She was upset," Tina tells her.

Quinn climbs out of her chair and steps towards her. "She... she packed her stuff and she left. She said she was going home."

Santana's heart drops. "What?"

"She's gone, Santana," she says again and Santana shakes her head, quickly backing out of the room. She climbs the stairs taking two at a time and barges into Brittany's room as soon as she gets there. It's empty, the bed made. Santana opens the drawers in the dresser. Her clothes are gone too.

She backs out of the room and heads for her own, determined that that's where everything will be.

Instead, sitting on her bed, she finds her mother's folded UPenn t-shirt. Above it, a note sits.

_I'm sorry_, it says.

The moment Santana sees it, she runs.


	12. Interlude 2

_Friday_

Santana's not there when she wakes up.

She feels silly because her hand reaches out next to her, her fingers scrunching in the covers, but she never hits silky soft skin like she wants to. All she gets is more and more cool cotton until air brushes through her fingers, her body almost rolling off the edge of the bed.

She leans up on tired arms and looks around, searching desperately for any sign of her.

But she's not there.

And it's really hard to not get angry.

Every time Santana does this, it feels like she's getting higher and higher on a swing before someone pushes her off and she lands face-first in the mud.

She's tired of falling in the mud now. She just wants to keep swinging.

But even that's getting hard; the more she tries to keep herself in the air, the more she keeps slipping, the more nauseous she feels and, sometimes, she just wants to get off. Sometimes, she just wants to lay in the grass and forget about it.

It makes her mad because the swings are her favorite.

/

She watches Santana leave and it's nothing new.

Not really.

It shouldn't hurt as much as it does. It shouldn't feel like someone's kicking her over and over again in the ribs but it really does. She wraps an arm around and gasps for breath as the sting of the words that left her mouth begin to burn on her tongue.

There was somewhere deep inside of her that thought that Santana wasn't going to walk away anymore. She thought that they were done with that, but here she is, watching as Santana walks away from her yet again.

She thinks that it means something that, when Santana tells her she's done, she doesn't want to run after her. It's not like last night when she ran after Santana because she knew that she'd hurt her. She doesn't want to run after her at all.

If she's honest, all she wants to do is walk away in the opposite direction and never look back.

She guesses that means she must be done, too.

She gasps for breath and she's sure it must be the shock of her anger that's making her cry so bad. She shakes her head and her feet don't quite know what they're doing. She steps backwards and forwards as she tries to make her lungs work, avoiding the beady eyes that stare at her from the hallway.

"I can't stay here," she gasps. She sounds like she has a blocked up nose and a sore throat. All the words feel harder to say than normal. They feel like they're scratching and nicking against the back of her mouth, deep in her throat, and it hurts to speak. "I have to go..." she mutters but she's the only one there. Maybe her head's trying to talk to her body because it doesn't seem to want to work anymore. "I have to go. I can't stay here anymore. I shouldn't..." she shakes her head furiously because he told her, _he told her_ that she shouldn't have come. He said it wasn't a good idea. "I shouldn't have come here... I've just... It's just made everything worse."

It feels like she's run all the way here from Lima; it feels like she's been running for a long time, trying to catch up with someone and now she's given up. Her lungs suddenly burn and her eyes go wide. She's aware of the ache in all of her muscles and she momentarily wonders if she's forgotten how to breathe. She blinks to clear blurry eyes and realizes that she remembers; it's just that the air doesn't know how to fit back in her lungs anymore.

She fists her fingers into the shirt she'd pulled on and barely buttoned-up when she climbed from the bed. She plucks at it like it's the thing that's stopping the air from getting into her chest but it doesn't work.

Curious, she looks down at herself, sure that there's something wrapped around her body. She's sure that there's something squeezing at her chest like a boa constrictor, tightening around her and stopping her body from working. She guesses it makes sense that there isn't but by the time she's worked that out she's more worried about the fact that her hands are shaking worse than the times she forgets to put on gloves when it snows.

She reaches out to brace herself against the counter, hoping that it'll keep her up and stop her hands shaking but her knees just start shaking too.

"Britt," she hears the creak of Artie's wheels coming closer and glances up at him.

She shakes her head at him. "I can't breathe," she admits, legs buckling. "I can't... breathe."

/

He forces her to sit on his lap and makes Quinn wheel them to the pool house. He asks her if she can sit on the couch but there's something about being back in here that makes her feel weird, like there's something swelling inside her like a balloon filled with dirt about to burst.

He sits in front of her once she's sat down and presses a hand to her chest.

"Breathe," he says softly and even though her eyes are still blurry, she can see Quinn stood by the door looking at her with concern. Artie must notice her because she sees him turn and mumble something she doesn't hear. It makes Quinn leave, closing the door behind her."Breathe, Britt..."

She takes deep breaths and watches as he pulls himself backwards towards the mini-fridge in the corner. He pulls out a bottle of water and uncaps it, helping her hold it in her shaky hands as they both bring it to her mouth. She drinks, spluttering a little, but manages to swallow some. It takes away some of the dryness in her throat but it doesn't really help. She can't stop crying or shaking.

It takes a while before her breathing evens out enough for her to speak. Tears still stream down her cheeks and she shakes her head at Artie before he can speak first.

"I can't stay here," she sobs hopelessly.

She thinks of another week of Santana not looking at her, of wandering around a house full of people who can't bear to look at each other unless they're drunk enough to fall over. She can't stay here like this anymore. She's more afraid of that than she is of going back to Lima and facing what's waiting for her.

"I have to get out of here, Artie," she begs. "Artie, you have to help me leave. I can't stay here. I can't do it..."

"Brittany..." he breathes out. He looks almost as tired as she feels. It makes her feel less lonely.

She shakes her head. "We can go together," she says. "We can... We don't have to stay here. We can go on our own vacation." Artie groans a little and he's already shaking his head. "We _can_," she promises. "We can go back to Disney World. We can go see the dolphins at SeaWorld again, the sharks. I don't care, I just can't stay here anymore, I can't do it..." A broken sob whimpers from her. "Please, Artie. I wanna go home."

He takes her hands and wraps them in his own. He shakes his head and Brittany's never felt more ashamed and lonely than at this moment. She has no Santana to go to, no family to go to, and now Artie's shaking his head at her. She can't remember him doing that before.

"You can't run to me when things get hard, Britt," he shakes his head softly. "I won't help you run away... I _won't _run away with you. I _can't_, Britt. I've... there's stuff going on here and I can't leave." He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't want to and I don't think you should either."

She shakes her head. "I _don't_ want to be here," she says emphatically. Her tears run thick. "I can't do this anymore, Artie... I can't feel like this anymore. I don't understand it and I don't want it and I just want to leave."

Artie looks at her for a moment, flicks his eyes back and forth between her own. She looks back and thinks that he can see more than she wants him to. She can see that he knows that things are only going to get worse when Santana gets back just like she does. They all heard them last night – she knows it – and it's only going to make everything a thousand times worse. She can't wait around just to listen to Santana tell everyone they're crazy for thinking she'd want her.

"Brittany, you can leave. I won't stop you if it's what you want," he whispers. "But I'm not coming with you."

She crumples. She feels like she's a Coke can and someone just squashed her under their shoe. She doesn't know how to explain. She doesn't know what to say after avoiding admitting what she's needed to for so long.

"I don't have anywhere to go," she sobs hopelessly. Her voice sounds small and tiny. She feels so embarrassed. So silly.

Something flashes in his eyes. "You can go home, Britt... You can get a bus and you can..."

She shakes her head and wipes the tears off the bottom of her chin with the back of her hand. She sucks in a couple of breaths and shrugs her shoulders.

"I wasn't meant to come here." Her voice is weaker than she wanted it to be when she said this. She wanted to still be believing that she was doing the right thing. "I was..." she shrugs and she's never felt more stupid than at this moment. "My parents said I wasn't allowed to come on the trip. They – they said that I shouldn't waste my time in Florida being a tourist when I could stay in Colorado a little longer and spend time with my family." She shakes her head. "I can't go home."

His eyes widen in alarm. "What?"

She gasps for breath, the need for air coming on strong again. "I – I took my mom's car keys when my parents went to sleep and drove all night to get there in time to come on the trip. I would have missed you all if I hadn't driven past Puck on the way to meet you. I just... I just didn't – "

He scoffs and she trails off. "Jesus, Brittany! What were you _thinking_?" he looks around like he's checking to make sure nobody heard. "So you just stranded your family in Colorado?"

Brittany looks at him like he's crazy for a minute then shakes her head. "No... I... We took both my parents' cars and then my sister drove in from Pennsylvania and Bobby drove in from Yale and met us there."

Artie's eyes remain wide as he nods. "Didn't Bobby have anything to say about this?" he hisses. "You tell Bobby everything. Didn't Bobby tell you that you're being _insane_?"

Brittany remembers her last conversation with her brother, when he caught her backing quietly away from the camp in Colorado. He'd asked her if it was worth asking her not to go and she'd s her head. He'd asked her to take his car instead but she'd refused, saying she didn't want him to get in trouble. Instead, he'd handed her the three hundred and fifty dollars leftover from his last paycheck back at his job in New Haven and asked her to text him when she got back to Lima. She'd done that but her phone had died and she hadn't had the guts to charge it back up again.

She shrugs her shoulders and Artie shakes his head at her. "Go home, Brittany," he sighs.

She looks up at him. "What?"

He shakes his head and he didn't even look this disappointed when he found out the truth about her and Santana, when she said no to his invitation to prom and then again when he asked her for another chance while they were slow dancing.

"Go home, Britt..." he repeats. "You're being stupid."

He doesn't look guilty. She doesn't even feel hurt. She knows it's the truth.

"I don't have any money," she whispers, hanging her head in shame.

Artie turns himself around and wheels over to the door. She looks up to watch him go and sees him shaking his head sadly just before he sighs.

"I'll get you some money... just go and pack your things. I'll figure it out."

/

She's already dressed and packed most of her things when she remembers the things she has in Santana's room.

She steps inside, ignoring the scent of sex and sweat and Santana. She sniffs away the tears but it doesn't really work. A few still escape and roll down her cheek, landing on Santana's pillow as she reaches over to grab her earrings on the nightstand and roughly puts them back in her ears.

Her fingers bury through the pile of her clothes hanging over the back of Santana's chair, folding them as she tosses them into her open duffle on the floor. It isn't until her fingers meet gray fabric that she pauses. Her face falls and she lets her thumb trace over red letters until her lip is quivering with the threat of sobs again. She shakes her head adamantly and folds it up, holding it against her chest as she grabs the notepad on the dresser and a pen.

She reverently places the shirt on the end of the bed beside her and uncaps the pen. She presses it to the paper but she doesn't know what to say. She's not sure what there is left to say.

She trusts her fingers and when they write _I'm sorry_ she thinks that maybe that will work. It says a lot of things.

_I'm sorry I can't do this anymore._

_I'm sorry things turned out the way they did. _

_I'm sorry I wasn't good enough. _

She rips the sheet off the notepad and places it atop the shirt before standing up again and moving back to the clothes on the chair.

/

She's putting the last of her things in her bag when there's a knock at the door. She sniffs away her tears and wipes at her chin as she looks up.

She instantly feels nauseous when she sees Sam in the doorway. She turns away from him and doesn't say anything. When she looks at him she remembers the look in Santana's eye when she'd saw them, she remembers how angry she is.

"Listen," he starts. "I didn't realize that you and Santana had a thing – "

"We don't," she cuts him off quickly.

He pauses and she feels him come closer. She doesn't know why, but she automatically grabs her bag and takes a step backward away from him.

"I could..." She looks at the floor and listens to him as he takes another step closer. "I could come with you... if you wanted."

She looks up at him and her face pulls together in confusion. She shakes her head instantly. "No," she says softly.

He laughs awkwardly. "I mean... last night..."

"Should never have happened," she strides across the room to get past him but he gets in her way, holding his arms out to stop her. She shakes her head at him, flinching away when he tries to touch her. "I don't want you, Sam. And you don't want me."

"No, I..."

"I'm not stupid," she shakes her head. "Everyone thinks I'm stupid, but I'm not, okay? You think by following me that Santana won't hurt you, but you're wrong. She won't if you stay either, okay? Trust me."

She's out the door before he can ask why.

/

She can see the rest of them watching from the kitchen when she gets downstairs.

Artie, Quinn and Blaine stand by the front door waiting for her, talking in hushed voices as she trudges her bag downstairs. It's heavier than she remembers it being.

"Here, Britt," Quinn says softly. "We checked out how much the bus was going to cost you back to Lima... it leaves at nine-thirty and you can make it if you leave this second. We all grouped together to get you enough money to get home and there's some extra there if you need money for food and whatever, a cab home from the bus station when you get back."

She nods and feels her cheeks pink with embarrassment. Quinn hands her the cash before moving back to stand beside Artie.

"Blaine's going to take you to the bus station," Artie tells her softly and he doesn't look disappointed so much anymore, just worried. "Are you sure about this?"

She nods and forces a smile. Artie nods back stiffly. Quinn quickly leans forward and wraps her in a tight hug. It's gone before she can hug back like she needs to.

"Be safe, okay?" Quinn whispers. "Call us when you can."

She nods and follows Blaine out to the car.

/

She expects him to drop her off and leave but he gets out and follows her to the ticket place and hovers behind her as she gets her ticket and hands over the money. He grabs the long strip of tickets the lady gives her and checks over them for her like she can't do it herself, puts the "KEY WEST to MIAMI" ticket on the top for her.

She takes them gratefully and tries to say goodbye but he keeps following her, asking her if she knows where she's going over and over again until she stops and turns to him.

"Blaine," she sighs, trying to smile, awkwardly scratching her forehead with the hand that holds the bundle of tickets. "I'm _fine_, okay? I've taken a bus before."

"Yeah, but – "

"Blaine," she says and it's more of a warning this time. It feels weird coming from her mouth and she wonders if it's leftover from earlier.

He holds up his hands in apology and steps back. She wants to apologize to him at the same time she wants to explain that she's really good at getting the bus. She wants to tell him all about how she likes that she doesn't have to worry about getting lost, that she always has something ticket-shaped to remind her where she's going in her pocket, and that she always likes knowing where she's going. She doesn't think there's time for that, though. She just smiles and wraps him in a one-armed hug that doesn't make her feel better as he tells her to be safe.

She's pretty sure he's still there watching her as she's climbing aboard the bus.

/

She sits at the back of the bus facing the window and it's like someone put her life in reverse. Like a movie on rewind, everything moves faster and quicker than when they drove here. She blinks and she feels like she's missed things, like things are skipping too fast, frames getting lost and caught up in the need to return.

She notices that nothing looks as beautiful when you're going backwards. All the places and faces they passed on their way here all those weeks ago don't make excitement bubble in her stomach anymore, they don't make her breath hitch. They mostly just make her head hurt with how blurry and distorted they are.

The ocean doesn't look as blue and clear as it did that first day they arrived in the sunshine. It blurs into the gray of the still angry sky until it all looks the same, like a bubble of darkness. Even the sand doesn't look as golden. It just looks as concrete and dull as the asphalt of the road. Even the palm trees don't look the same. They don't sway like they're dancing anymore, like they're softly bragging that they get to stay here forever, swinging in the breeze. They look like they're shivering, surrounded by a haze of dark colorless shapes.

It doesn't make sense because the sun only rose a couple of hours ago.

/

The reality of what she's doing and where she is and how alone she is sinks in as she jumps off the bus in Miami.

She loves buses. She's awesome at taking buses and always has been since her mom wouldn't take her to the zoo when she was seven and she decided to take herself instead. Except, now she knows that she doesn't want to go where she has to go.

She doesn't want to go home. She _can't_ go home. She's terrified of what her parents will do, how they'll react.

But, just as much as she can't go home, she thinks she wants to go back to the house, to Santana, even less. She can't handle the thought of having to spend another day feeling so angry all the time. She can't handle the thought of having to look at Santana and not crying or screaming at her again because she knows that nothing will change. If she goes back, nothing will change.

And she's exhausted. She's exhausted of being stuck. She's exhausted of struggling like a fish would on dry land.

She can't do it anymore.

"Hello?"

"Quinn, it's me."

There's a pause. "Where are you?"

"Miami," she whispers softly, her voice breaking a little. "I'm in Miami."

Quinn breathes out. It crackles over the line.

"Come back, Britt," she says after a minute. "Just come back. She's not back yet. She doesn't have to know. You can just... come back and talk about it and – "

"No," she cuts through her and her head hurts with how much she wants to cry again, with how heavy her tears feel behind her eyelids. It only makes her feel angrier. "No," she repeats, swallowing. "I can't. I already have my ticket."

"Britt – "

"I have to go," she chokes. "I have to get my bus."

She hangs up the phone, barely getting it back into place before her hands are rubbing at her eyes and refusing the tears away.

/

She makes it to Orlando before she starts crying.

She doesn't know why.

Maybe it's because the Greyhound station looks nothing like the Orlando that she remembers, maybe it's because she's just so angry.

She steps off the bus and onto a concrete sidewalk and it's so unfamiliar that she barely makes it to ladies' room inside before she's sobbing into her hands, not completely sure how to stop.

How is she supposed to stop if she doesn't know why she's crying in the first place?

She just throws her bag down inside one of the cubicles, locks the door. She doesn't even care if anything's clean before she lowers the seat and sits down on it; she's just too afraid she'll fall if she doesn't. Crying always makes her legs shaky when she means it. Except, she's not so sure why she means it so much.

All she knows is that this Orlando she's in is nothing like the magical place she'd been to before. It doesn't remind her of Disney World, it doesn't remind her of the dolphins. It doesn't remind her of hotels and fireworks and –

She sobs because the further the day goes on the more she becomes aware of how her best memories are meaningless. This place was supposed to mean something, it was supposed to represent the moment when everything changed for the better, except now she knows the only thing it represents is another moment when everything changed for the worse.

She doesn't think that she can handle almost five hours of being stuck here. The last time she came here she'd never felt less alone. She felt like she'd never have to be on her own again and now she feels like the loneliest person in the world.

The world feels so big. She knows that should feel like a good thing but it doesn't. It just reminds her of all the things out there that she'll never have.

She doesn't understand why everything has to feel so far away?

She jumps when someone starts banging on the door.

"Miss?" they say. "Are you okay in there? Can you open the door please?"

She wipes her eyes on the back of her hand and says something to the woman still banging on the door. She doesn't want to look silly when they see her, she doesn't want to be _that girl, _even though she's sure her eyes are probably bright red and her nose runny.

"Miss, is there a reason why you've been in this bathroom for so long?" the woman says, rapping more furiously on the door. "Miss, if you're doing something you shouldn't be in there I think you should know that you're surrounded and you've been caught."

She opens the door and the woman's face instantly drops. She's short and small and blonde. She wears a rent-a-cop hat and she takes her hand off of something on the back of her belt when she sees the tears still rolling down Brittany's cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Brittany says, rubbing furiously at her nose. The woman just sighs and shakes her head, tugging her by the elbow out of the cubicle. "I wasn't... Please don't arrest me."

That's the last thing she needs, except, she wonders if it'll stop her from having to go home.

The woman clicks her tongue. "Sweetie, don't be silly," she says. "You've been caught crying in a bus station bathroom for an hour. I'm not arresting you, I'm going to buy you a cup of coffee."

/

It's almost ten o'clock when the security lady hands her a cup of coffee and guides her back outside even though inside is still pretty empty. She makes them sit on a bench and lights up a cigarette that smells nothing like the ones that she's familiar seeing hanging out of Santana's mouth and caught between her fingers.

"Where are you from, sweetie?" she asks after a moment.

The air is cool and crisp. She heard Santana telling Quinn and Artie that that's always the way things are after a storm and as it comes to a close. It's not raining now, but it was on the way here for a while. Puddles make the floor look like Swiss cheese and she misses the gum boots she left back at the Key West house, perfect for jumping in puddles with.

She sniffs and holds the paper coffee cup. "Ohio," she whispers.

The woman's eyes widen and she nods. "And what are you doing here so far away from home?"

Brittany glances at her softly. "I was on vacation with my friends in Key West."

"And where are you friends?"

Brittany stares at the cup, flicks her thumb over the edge of the lid where it hangs over the edge to make a clicking sound. She feels like she's in trouble. "They're still in Key West."

"Oh?"

"I-I had a fight with my..." she pauses and something aches in her chest. "My best friend."

The woman laughs. "Lemme guess? It was over a boy?"

She feels tears prick at her eyes and she doesn't know what to say. She knows she can't tell the truth because she doesn't know what will happen. She doesn't know who this lady is or what she's doing. For a second, she understands what Santana meant.

"Something like that," she whispers, cuddling into herself. "I'm... I'm going home."

"That's good." The woman reaches out and pats her on the wrist. "I'm sure it'll work itself out," she says before she gets up. "Just... try and stay out of public restrooms, okay?"

Brittany nods and watches as the woman looks around, watches a guy across the street for a few moments before she looks back at her.

"I'm sure she'll come crawling back eventually," she winks and then she's walking away, back inside.

Brittany watches her leave and doesn't know how to say that there's no crawling to be done.

_Saturday_

It's raining again by the time her bus comes. It's just past two am and she's still sat on the bench, the cup of coffee the woman had bought her freezing cold in her hands. She tosses it into the trash as she climbs aboard, wiping the tears that still roll down her cheeks with the other hand.

The driver looks at her like crying teenage girls are nothing new and says nothing to her.

An old man comes and sits next to her and says nothing to her, just gives her butterscotch candies through the night.

He doesn't say anything until they get to Atlanta when he asks Brittany to help him carry his bags and guides them inside and over to a sign that says "Restaurant". He forces Brittany to sit down at one of the tables and only pauses to ask her how long until her next bus arrives before he's calling over a waitress.

"Get this young lady whatever she wants," he says and doesn't take no for an answer when Brittany says she's fine. He just orders every single item on the breakfast menu, even stuff that most people don't even like.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asks softly when the man just sips some coffee and eats a slice of toast.

He smiles and pats her hand. "Because it must be bad if butterscotch candies can't even fix it," he grins. "What's her name?"

Brittany's mouth drops open and she shakes her head at him, mouth opening and closing as she can't find the words. The man just smiles at her and sips his coffee.

"How did you..." Brittany finally manages to stutter out. The man laughs, kind and amused. Her stomach already feels all tight and funny from the food she's been forcing herself to put down, not wanting to be rude. His words make her feel like it's all going to come back up.

He hails over the waitress to fill his cup and waits until it's full to the brim again before he answers.

"Because," he says and Brittany vaguely takes a moment to notice that she likes his accent. "The face you've got on you is one that only a woman could cause. So, tell me, what's her name?"

Brittany feels the tears in her eyes again, only notices they're rolling down her cheeks when the man wordlessly hands her a napkin.

"Santana," she whispers and it hurts to say her name out loud. It reminds her that the anger still bubbles inside of her like she's just eaten an extra hot chili pepper. "Her name is Santana..."

/

The station is over-packed and full of people determined to get to their destination. She holds her bag to herself and uses it like protection as she tries to find the bus stop she's meant to catch her bus at. She has to fight her way through a crowd of people and is too scared to find her way back once she finally finds where she needs to be.

She just drops against the wall nearby and clutches her bag to her chest, taking a moment to wonder what she's doing, what's going to happen, if everything's going to be okay.

She hasn't slept for over twenty-four hours but she doesn't care. Every time she closes her eyes, all the things she has to think and worry about rush to her head and make her feel angry enough to cry again. She doesn't want to cry anymore. She just wants to get home because she knows that once she gets home she'll be able to stop feeling angry. She'll have better things to think about than why she's angry, why she's hurt.

She'll have more important things to do than think about why Santana would do this, why she'd want things to end up like this, why she couldn't do anything to make things different.

She'll have her parents and the consequences of her actions to think about.

She'll have no time to worry about Santana.

_Sunday_

It's midnight by the time her fourth bus arrives in Cincinnati.

She jolts awake, the echo of her dream replay of the morning before bouncing around her head, and looks at the clock at the front of the bus to notice that she's only been asleep a few minutes.

She didn't even mean to fall asleep in the first place.

She didn't want to because the moment she closes her eyes her brain starts playing tricks on her. It shows her all the things that make her angry, all the things that make her sad, all the things that make her worried and all the things that make her feel scared.

There's nothing worse than waking up alone on a bus in a place she doesn't recognize, she realizes. She stumbles off the bus and into the station. She remembers that there's two hours until her bus from Cincinnati to Detroit comes. The thought makes her tummy ache because all she wants is a hug or a familiar face, or even a mad face from someone she actually knows.

Maybe she could call her parents and they could come get her. She guesses it wouldn't do her any favors calling them at almost one in the morning, though. If she called them and it woke up Jenna and Maddy it would probably make any punishment she gets worse.

Her feet find their way to the payphone across the station and she buries around in the pockets of her sweatshirt, past candy wrappers and crumpled up dollar bills, to find some quarters. She keeps a couple knowing that she'll need them later on, but takes out two and clutches them in her hands as she dials Quinn's number.

When the line buzzes to tell her it's not available, her fingers shake as she dials it again. She must have got it wrong.

But, then again, it buzzes with no answer.

She dials Artie's. No answer.

Tina's: it calls but no one answers.

Same with Mike's.

And Kurt's.

She slams it down on the receiver harder than she meant to and bursts into tears again, glad that there's only a man in the corner, sleeping on a bench.

He doesn't care when she slides down against the wall.

Nor does he care when she starts sobbing out loud, desperate for someone to come hold her.

He just sleeps and, for a moment, Brittany wishes she could too.

/

She does it before she even realizes she's doing it. She climbs off the bus in Detroit and heads straight for the nearest payphone, a handful of quarters already clutched in her hands. Along with her friends', Bobby's number is the only one she's called enough for her head to remember it. She taps in the numbers like they're the ones she should have been dialing all along and presses the phone to her ear as her bag falls to the floor at her feet.

She doesn't pause to wonder if he's even still at home. She guesses she could find her way to New Haven if he isn't.

She knows she's woken him up when he answers the phone. It's seven in the morning and he groans instead of saying hello.

"Are you... are you in New Haven?" she sighs, back pressed against the wall.

She hears rustling in the background. "Britt?" he says sleepily. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," she nods and she feels the relief run out of her through her tears. "Are you in New Haven?"

He pauses and groans again. "No, no, Britt. I'm not in New Haven. I'm still at home." He pauses and she tries to muffle her tears into her hand. "Where are you, Bumblebee?"

"Detroit," she hiccups. "My bus gets into Lima at noon. Can you come pick me up?"

He's quiet and for long moments all there is is the sound of his breathing over the line, of her quarters dropping into the payphone and the footsteps of people as they slow down to look at her as she cries.

"Of course," he nods and she cries harder.

He doesn't let her hang up until she's stopped crying.

/

He's stood at the curb when she gets off the bus and she's never been so relieved to see him in her entire life.

She blinks at the sight of him for longer than she should when she sees him, not sure if he's there, until he steps towards her and takes her bag from her hands.

It's all it takes for her to collapse into him, for him to take hold of her without saying a word, and tuck her tightly into his body.

"You're okay, Bumblebee," he whispers into her hair as she instantly starts sobbing again. "I've got you."

/

In the car, he puts the keys in the ignition but doesn't turn them. Instead, he rests his elbow against the door and rests his fist on his chin as he turns his head to her curiously.

"I told you not to go," he says softly. Her eyes flutter closed and her body crumples because she was hoping he wouldn't say that. She was hoping he'd realize she didn't need him to say that. She knows that already. Still, he reaches out and takes her hand where it clutches at the edge of her shorts and holds it in his own. His palms are rough and calloused like her feet are from dancing. "What happened?"

She holds onto his fingers and shakes her head furiously. She's so tired of crying.

"It didn't work out," she whispers, her lip quivering.

He sighs and shakes his head. "Kids your age..." he stops and she knows that he can't say what he was about to say without feeling ridiculous. He's twenty-two. He still doesn't really understand this stuff either. "A lot of people are stupid," he says instead, reaching for the keys. "You shouldn't have gone. I told you."

She breathes out and catches a tear on her wrist as it drips off her nose. "I had to try."

His hands pause just as the car kicks into life. He turns to her and narrows his eyes. "Try what?" he asks after a second. She kicks herself for mentioning it.

She shakes her head at him. "It doesn't matter."

"Britt..."

"It doesn't matter," she repeats and he must hear what she doesn't want to say because he doesn't say anything the whole way home.

/

"Robert?" her mother's voice calls when they step in through the front door, Bobby tossing her bag down in the doorway as he holds her up as she pulls off her shoes and puts them near her sisters'. "Is that you? Where have you been?"

Her heart sinks at the sound of it because she was secretly hoping her mother would be at work today, that she'd only have to deal with her dad looking at her with disappointment. She wonders why her mom _isn't_ at work for a second before she realizes that she has no idea what day it is. Maybe it's Sunday.

He holds her hand as he pulls her through the living room, then into the kitchen and den. She hides behind him as the sounds of her parents' voices get closer, her older and younger sisters' voices too. They all pause when they see her.

"Sarah-Jane, Jenna, Maddy," her mother's voice instantly says as Brittany looks at the bottoms of Bobby's jeans where worn out holes force him to turn them up a little. "Can you go upstairs for a moment?"

They shuffle away, all three of them looking at her as she hides against Bobby. When they've gone, he pulls her around his body and pushes her forward a little. She sways a little on the spot, too used to his support too quickly.

Her dad takes off his glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. Her mom folds her arms and Brittany hears her take a deep breath. She flinches away from it in case today is the day she finally gets to hear her mother yell for the first time.

Except it isn't. Brittany feels weird because maybe it should have been.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" she asks after a moment.

Brittany's mouth opens and she feels that all too familiar drop of shame when she realizes she doesn't. She shakes her head and clutches her hand back at the bottom of her shorts. Her mother sighs and her father still just sits there, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. It makes her feel sick and she straightens her back a little because of it. She should be used to it by now.

Her mother shakes her head.

"Then you can go to your room."

/

Sarah-Jane is in her room when she gets there, throwing things back into the same duffle bag Brittany offered to help her pack her clothes into almost two years ago when she was packing for college.

The look she gives Brittany when she sees her standing in the doorway is one that Brittany's learned to ignore over the years.

"You couldn't just stay away for a couple more weeks?" she says under her breath, shaking her head. "You couldn't just give me one fucking summer without you?"

She shoulders her out of the way, almost knocking her back as she heads down the hall to her old bedroom that's now their mother's own office. She closes her eyes and ignores it and steps into her room.

It doesn't look as welcoming as she wanted it to.

SJ's changed her sheets at some point and swapped them for her old duvet instead of Brittany's comforter. The sheets are white and not polka dot or blue like Brittany likes hers to be. She's moved all her things around, taken Lord Tubbington's litter tray and moved it somewhere else. Half of her pictures on her wall have fallen off and none of her picture frames are anywhere to be seen.

She drops her bag at the bottom of her bed and starts to put her pictures back up. She doesn't even flinch when SJ comes back in and steals all the covers off her bed. She just moves away from the wall and opens up her closet, finds all the bed linen in there and begins to pull them back onto her bed, perfectly tucking corners over the mattress and laying her pillows exactly how she likes them.

Without thinking, she tugs two extra large spare sheets and ties them to the light fitting above her be to form a tent over the bed. She closes the door and pulls the curtains closed before she strips herself of the clothes she's been wearing for almost three days. She pulls on clean underwear and finds an old t-shirt in her dresser before crawling into bed and pulling her knees to her chest.

She knows who it is when the door creaks open and she almost sobs in relief when a few seconds later something small and warm struggles to climb up onto the bed. He crawls towards her wearily, like he's not sure if it's really her and not a trick, before he feels her fingers reach out to tickle his ears and snuggles up to her.

He fits himself into the space between her chest and knees noses into her shirt. The affection makes the tears start dripping down onto her cheeks and she runs her hand down the back of his head and onto his back.

"I missed you, too, Tubbs," she whispers around a sniffle, glad that someone's glad to see her. "I missed you, too."

/

She lays there until SJ comes to tell her that dinner's ready. She pulls on some sweats and wanders downstairs, sits at her usual seat at the table and waits for instruction. She's not even hungry, she just doesn't want to have to deal with what will come if she doesn't eat with her family.

No one talks to her or questions her. They act like she's been there all along and don't say anything when she pushes pasta around her plate, not eating it.

It isn't until they've finished and tidied the dishes away that anyone says anything to her. Her parents huddle her younger sisters upstairs to get ready for bed before they turn to her.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" her mother asks in the same tone she did earlier. Brittany shakes her head without a word, staring at her hands in her lap. Her mother sighs and her father walks over to the coffeemaker. "Well," her mother goes on. "Until you do, you're grounded, do you understand?"

Brittany pauses but then she nods. "Yes, ma'am."

/

It must be late when he comes in. She has no idea how long she's been laying in her bed but it feels like a long time, even though the thoughts in her head move so fast. They move so fast, she's glad she's laying down because of how dizzy they make her feel.

"What happened?" he whispers, his hand on her bare ankle where it pokes out from beneath the covers.

Brittany shifts, glad that she's hidden beneath her teepee made of sheets and covered in darkness. She doesn't want him to see her. She doesn't want him to ask her why she's crying again. She doesn't have an answer, she doesn't know herself. Mostly, she just feels angry and she doesn't think that's a good enough reason to cry.

She wipes her tears on the corner of the pillow and pretends to be asleep.

"Bumblebee," he says softly. "I know you're not asleep."

She sniffs and wipes her tears again. "I don't want to talk about it," she mumbles into the softness of the pillow.

It makes Bobby rub her ankle, his fingers squeezing gently like when he used to help her take off her ballet shoes after class, her toes red and angry.

"Well," he says softly. "I'll be here when you do, so..." She feels him searching through the covers and she reaches out her hand for him to take as he leans over her through the folds of the sheet. His lips press against the back of her hand. "I'm glad you're home, Bee."

She listens to him leave and closes her eyes once the door clicks shut. She tries to fall asleep but she can't.

Her mind isn't used to the quiet again yet. It wants to hear the giggles of her friends and the sound of the ocean.

So she stays awake, wishing them to come, but they never do.

_Monday_

She's woken up by a tiny finger poking in her cheek. It makes her jolt, mostly because she doesn't remember falling asleep in the first place. It can't have been for very long. Her eyes ache like somebody punched her and her legs sting like her blood's too lazy to pump that far down. She wiggles her toes a little and cracks open an eye to look at her little sister, sat at the opening of the two sheets that hang around her.

"You look tired."

She takes a deep breath. It makes her feel sleepier.

"That's because you woke me up," she mumbles, turning her head into the pillow to block out the light from where Maddy must have opened her curtains.

Maddy nods like that makes sense and scrambles off the bed, allowing more sunlight to pour in and burn Brittany's eyes.

"Where did you go?" Maddy asks and Brittany hears her tugging her duffle into the middle of the room.

Brittany breathes out and lifts a hand to cover over her eyes. "Florida."

"Did you see the ocean?"

"Yeah."

"Was it awesome?"

Her throat aches from lack of sleep. She feels like a squirrel with stuff crammed into her cheeks. "It was pretty awesome."

Brittany hears a zipper open and tries not to be annoyed when Maddy starts throwing her clothes onto the floor beside the bag instead of the hamper in the corner. "Did you get me a present?" she asks.

She nods until she remembers Maddy can't see her. She's been waiting to give Maddy the tiny stuffed toy of Shamu since they went to SeaWorld. She's the only person who wanted to go to see the whales and the dolphins as much as she did.

She's opening her mouth to tell her when Maddy's shriek of excitement makes her head begin to pound like her heart's come up to visit her brain.

"Goofy!" Maddy shrieks and Brittany can hear her feet bouncing on the carpet. It makes her forget the pulse in her head and she's jumping out of the bed, ignoring any ache or pain as her heart starts beating for another reasons.

Maddy looks at her as she tries to steady herself at the foot of the bed and clutches the toy to her chest. "He's not my favorite but – "

"No!" she cuts through her quickly, jumping up on her feet and grabbing hold of her sister. "NO!" she says again and she snatches the toy back away from her. "God, Maddy, get out of my room and go get your own stuff instead of going through everyone else's! These are MY things and if I want to show you or give you something you'll have to be patient. Stop being such a brat all the time!" Her breath pants from her and she barely registers her sister's shocked face. "Don't come in my room at seven am and wake me up and go through my things just because you want something."

She watches Maddy's bottom lip tremble, just like she knows hers does when she cries. She's too tired to do anything about it, just points to her bedroom door before climbing back on the bed with the Goofy toy still in her arms.

She waits until she hears her bedroom door click before she gathers it into her arms. It's then that she starts to feel guilty.

She doesn't get it.

It's just a toy. It shouldn't make her feel this angry for someone other than her to be holding it. She feels like a toddler, like this must be how all the other kids used to feel when they'd take the dolls from her in kindergarten because she was "playing with them wrong". It's just a toy, a toy that Santana bought her. It makes no sense that it makes her angry. It doesn't really remind her of Santana. It isn't like when she broke up with Artie and people in wheelchairs and wearing glasses made her feel sad and angry for days. It's just a toy.

It doesn't make any sense.

/

Her mother taps on her door a little while later and tells her to get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast. She's still not hungry but she knows that she has to go.

She knows that her mother doesn't care if she isn't hungry, that's not why she wants her.

"I told you to get dressed," her mother says when she wanders in with her sweats on and sits down.

She puts a cup of coffee and a piece of toast in front of her but doesn't tell her to eat them. She just watches her from her place at the counter for long moments until her sisters have left the table, her dad has gone to his office and only her and Bobby are left. She's glad for that.

"Are you ready to explain yourself yet?" she asks as she rinses out her coffee cup.

The sound of the tap is soothing and Brittany brings her legs up until she can rest her heels on the edge of the seat and her chin on her knees. She thinks about the question for a moment, Bobby's and her mother's eyes on her the whole time, until she realizes she doesn't know what to say and shakes her head.

"No," she whispers and her mother nods like that's what she expected. She does that a lot when Brittany's done something wrong but Brittany's never gotten used to it. She tucks her chin into her knees.

"Okay," she says and Brittany just wishes that someone would yell at her because maybe then she'll have a reason to cry like she wants to. "Anyway, I've got to get to work." She pauses in front of Brittany. "I want you have done the laundry by the time I get back. Understand?"

Brittany glances up at her and nods. "Yes, ma'am."

/

She spends most of the morning, sat tucked into the corner of the laundry room, watching how the water swishes around the washer and liking how each crash against the door looks like a wave crashing on the beach.

It's quiet and away from the rest of the house. It kind of reminds her of Santana's grandma's garage that she spent most of her time in until the rain stopped her. Just like she did in there, she sits in the quiet and tries to figure out what she's thinking.

She's sure she's almost got some of it worked out until SJ starts raising her voice somewhere nearby.

"Dammit, Maddy, you don't need me to play with you anymore; Brittany's home," she says and Brittany listens to her open the fridge and pull out the juice, pour only herself a glass of it before she puts it back. "Go and get her to play with you."

Brittany barely listens but she hears Maddy mumble something too quietly for her to hear anyway.

"What do you mean she yelled at you?" SJ says and Brittany closes her eyes and prepares for whatever's coming, pursing her lips and closing her eyes.

Maddy mumbles something else before Brittany hears SJ's familiar stomp as it moves towards her. Usually, she'd flinch, but when SJ pulls open the door to the laundry room, she doesn't do anything. She just sits there.

"What right do _you_ have to yell at Maddy?" she says, raising her voice in a way that she would never do if their mom was there and her dad hadn't left for a faculty meeting an hour ago. "She should be yelling at you because you're the only one that deserves it!"

"Leave me alone, SJ."

But SJ doesn't.

"Seriously, who do you think you are?" she says. "You walk around like you think you're better than this family when you're not. You're not even good enough for it. You let everyone down, even Maddy..."

"Leave me..." Brittany says her voice shaking, "...alone."

"If you were smart, you'd have just stayed at whatever stupid idiot friend of yours's house you stayed at," she laughs and Brittany shakes her head, opening her eyes and looking over at the other corner of the room before slowly standing up. "But, smart you are not, so it makes sense that you came back. Seriously, no one missed you. They didn't even care. So why don't you just do us all a favor and leave again. Don't bother coming back – "

"Fuck _off_, Sarah-Jane." Brittany watches as her sister's mouth drops open. "I don't care what you think." She wanders over to the door and points out of it. "Just leave me alone."

She figures she must have shocked her, because SJ leaves without another word, taking Maddy with her. Brittany just closes the door behind them before returning to her spot in the corner and sitting down, trying not to let the words get to her.

/

It takes Bobby half an hour before he comes in and checks that she's okay. He slumps down next to her and reaches out to take her hand but she won't let him. She folds her arms around herself and shakes her head.

"They won't back down," he tells her and Brittany wants to shout at him that she knows that. She knows they won't. They never do. They never do anything.

Her fists tighten into the fabric of her t-shirt and she looks away from Bobby because she doesn't want to be mad at him too.

"I don't care," she whispers and for the first time, when she says the words, it feels like she really doesn't.

/

She's been laying in her bed all afternoon when someone knocks on her bedroom door. Lord Tubbington shifts where he's laying on her feet before falling back to sleep.

"Dinner's ready, Britt," her dad says softly, opening the door a little to look in at her. She hears him stepping closer and a second later he pulls back the sheet to stare down at her, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose. "Your mom already called you."

"I didn't hear," she whispers, her eyes fluttering.

He nods in understanding.

"Are you going to put some pants on and come down?" he asks, gesturing to her bare legs, too hot in anything else.

She shifts her head against the pillow. It's not quite a nod or a shake of her head, but it'll do.

"I'm not hungry," she tells him.

He shifts to lean over her and presses his hand over her forehead. "You feeling okay?"

She nods and misses the warmth of his hand when it lifts off her forehead.

"I'm just not hungry," she says again. "I think I'm going to go to sleep."

He nods again and pushes his glasses up his nose as he straightens up. "Okay," he says and leaves.

Even when he's gone and with the noise from downstairs, Brittany still can't get to sleep.

_Tuesday _

Sleeping has never been this hard for her.

Once, after they got back from cheerleading Nationals, she was so tired that she slept the whole weekend and missed school on Monday because she couldn't even stay awake long enough to eat breakfast. It doesn't feel right that she can't now. She has no reason not to and she's never felt this exhausted before. Even when she thinks she's asleep, she isn't and when she's awake she feels like she's asleep.

Everything feels like a dream or a nightmare, or like it isn't real. She's not so sure what the difference between a dream and a nightmare is anymore.

Any time she does fall asleep, she dreams that she's back in Florida and that Santana's sleeping beside her again. It feels so real that, as she dreams, her brain tells her that if she wakes up, and stops Santana leaving before she does then, everything will end up okay. It tells her to wake up, shouting at her so loudly that every time she does wake up, she does it with a jolt so big that it scares Lord Tubbington.

Except, when she manages to get her eyes open, Santana isn't there. Nothing's changed, and she's back in Lima. It makes her angry because she feels so stupid.

She feels stupid because she knows that it would never be possible.

She could never stop Santana... She'd always leave her alone in bed again in the end.

And when Brittany tries to fall back to sleep to dream about something else, she can't – She's too angry. She's too busy being angry at Santana, desperate to know why she would make things like this.

She's so angry that, when she wears herself out, she falls asleep and dreams of Santana, starting the whole thing off again.

/

Her mother doesn't open the drapes when she wanders in, but Brittany wakes up to the sound of the window being opened and a cool rush of air littering goosebumps up her thighs. She doesn't know how long she's been asleep – probably not long – but she's glad that she isn't being woken up by another stupid dream.

Her mother moves around the room for a long time. She does that when she's trying to figure out if Brittany's awake or not. She just keeps making noise enough to rouse her until she hears the first groan that comes from stretching.

Brittany manages to roll onto her back and throws her hands over her face.

"So?" Her mother asks. "Anything to say for yourself today?"

Brittany shakes her head and groans as she pulls the Goofy toy from somewhere underneath her back. She looks at it for a second before resting it beside her.

"No," she says because right now she doesn't and she doesn't think that'll change by later.

"Fine," her mother says and she's doing something that Brittany can't see. It sounds like she's picking up laundry and putting it into the hamper. "But if you're going to misbehave and show no remorse for what you've done, the least you can do is refrain from arguing with your sisters and try to make amends."

Brittany takes a deep breath. She momentarily thinks about telling her mom what SJ said to her to make her mad but she's too scared that her mother won't be able to say anything to make her feel better and decides not to.

"Yes, ma'am," she says instead.

Her mother stops at the opening of the sheet canopy and pulls back one side. "What do you plan to do to occupy yourself today?"

Brittany glances at her and the way she's looking at her makes her turn over away from her, face burying in the pillow. "I don't know," she says, her voice thick like there's a frog stuck in it. "I don't feel so good."

The sheet falls back together. "Well, in that case, you can stay in your room."

Her mother says the words like she thinks they'll spark something in Brittany, like it'll make her say something. It makes Brittany sad that her mother doesn't get that this is exactly what she wants.

/

SJ brings her some lunch around noon. She dumps it down on the nightstand and scoffs, plucking at the sheet fort like it wasn't one of her favorite things to do when she was little.

SJ has a lot of things she doesn't like anymore since she's started college.

"If this is another one of your attempts for attention," she says and Brittany can almost hear how her nose is turned up like she just smelt Lord Tubbington's litter tray. "it won't work. Nobody who seeks out attention ever deserves it, so why don't you just stop? Do us all a favor."

She's about to yell at SJ to leave her alone but she stops when she realizes what she said. Her face buries more into the pillow and it feels like she's been punched in the stomach. She clutches herself closer to the quilt cuddled in her arms and wonders if SJ's right.

The words make her think of how she felt last week, when Santana was so wrapped up in everything else that she barely even looked at her. She thinks of how it lead her to insisting Santana let them have that party hoping that it would make her want her like all their other parties had done before. It made sense when she thought of the idea, but not when Santana was still ignoring her and refusing to tell her things.

She's still thinking about it when she hears her bedroom door click behind SJ. She presses her face into the pillow because of the sudden rush of shame that she feels when she remembers what she did with Sam.

She doesn't know how it happened. One minute she was asking Santana to dance and the next she was walking away and headed for the garage until she remembered that she couldn't get in there anymore. It was the sound of laughter that made her go into the pool house. She saw Sam and Artie sat together playing video games. She remembers sitting down with them and watching them play, until Mike walked in and everything got really quiet for a minute. Artie and Mike left after that and then it was just her and Sam. It was weird because she'd never really been alone in a room with him before and he asked her if she wanted to play. He didn't even make fun of her when she lost and tried to show her how to play.

She's not sure what happened between playing Mario Kart and kissing but all she remembers was how he didn't try and walk away, how he moved closer to her and told her that she was actually pretty good. She remembers how the music played in the background and how he'd said that he liked whatever song it was. She said it made her want to dance and then...

It makes her feel silly now. It was kinda slutty, how she'd thrown herself at him. She's like that when she's drunk, though. She likes people touching her because sometimes it doesn't feel like she's really there or asleep or something. Sam was happy to remind her that she was and that's what she liked. She liked that look in his eye that made her know that he just wanted to kiss her.

Her stomach flips when she remembers the look in Santana's face when she saw them. The only time that she got her attention when she wasn't even trying and look where it got her.

Maybe SJ was right. When she tried to seek out Santana's attention, she didn't get it but when she didn't she got it in the worst way. It was like karma or something but Brittany doesn't really understand karma all that well. But she understands honesty and she figures that when she was trying to get Santana's attention she wasn't being honest with either of them.

She guesses that's why she didn't deserve it.

/

She thinks she falls asleep wondering what would have happened if she had done things differently, except she still can't tell if she's asleep or awake. No matter what she does, her eyes still ache and her body still feels like she's carrying everything she has on her back.

Her parents open her door, clutching fresh glasses of water, and she guesses she must have actually laid in bed all day doing nothing. Lord Tubbington whips past their feet and jumps onto the bed with her, her parents following him in.

"How are you feeling?" her dad asks as he hovers at the end of her bed. Her mother holds back the sheet so they can peer in, illuminating her with the light from the hall like a spot lamp on a stage. It would make her nervous if she didn't already know what they're going to ask.

Her eyes blink open and she doesn't move onto her back to look at them.

"Okay," she says but she doesn't really know. It just seems like a good enough answer to stop them asking her anything else.

Her mom reaches forward and presses the backs of her fingers against Brittany's forehead. When the touch is gone, she misses it. She cuddles Lord Tubbington a little closer.

"Have you got anything to say to us?" she asks softly.

Brittany shakes her head and they both nod resolutely, before returning her back to the dark.

_Wednesday _

When she wakes up for the third time in an hour, soaked in a sweat and so angry it makes her dizzy, she decides that she can't just lay there anymore.

She walks down to the kitchen first, thinking that a glass of milk or a snack might help her. She gets some milk and cookies and is about to go back up to her room when she hears sound coming from the basement and light peeping up through the door leading to it.

The clock on the microwave reads two am and she pauses before she wanders over to the door. She taps on it softly and lets it open a little before she peers inside. Bobby looks up at her from his place on the bed and narrows his eyes.

"Hi," he says, reaching for the remote to his TV. "I was just... watching a movie. Did it wake you up? I can turn it down..."

"No," she shakes her head and she plops herself down on the edge of his bed without asking, her glass of milk and her box of cookies still in her hands. "I can't sleep."

He looks at her for a minute before reaching forward and taking the glass and the cookies from her. He sets them on the edge of his desk that sits beside his bed like a nightstand and urges her up until she's against the pillows.

"What's wrong, Bee?" he asks softly. "You're starting to worry me."

She shakes her head. She doesn't want him to worry, he doesn't need to, but she's not sure how to say that without explaining everything else. She's not even entirely sure what it is.

"I just..." she says and she feels sleepy, just laying next to him. "Can I stay with you?"

He nods. "Sure, Bee," he whispers and he helps her as she tries to wriggle under his covers. He gets up to turn off the TV but she stops him. "You don't have to," she says. "I can watch it with you."

He nods and gets under the covers with her. He doesn't argue when she presses her head to his shoulder and snuggles in. He just hands her the box of cookies and presses play on the movie.

/

She wakes up in Bobby's bed and he's already awake beside her with Lord Tubbington sat in his lap.

She thinks it should be weird considering they've not been asleep for long, but he's wide awake and watching TV beside her. She rolls onto her back, wiggling her toes and stretching her legs and liking how they ache just a little bit less than they did the night before.

"I should probably go to my room before Mom finds me," she whispers, hand resting over her forehead. Bobby glances at her, noticing that she's awake.

He makes a noise of agreement and she turns to him a little. He's watching _Spongebob_. Brittany smiles at the memory of the tradition. Every summer, her and Santana would always end up sleeping in Bobby's bed at some point after watching his scary movies. He'd always wake them up with _Spongebob_ in the morning because her mom never let them watch it upstairs. The fact that Santana's not here makes her feel all kinds of things, but, for the first time since she's been home, one of those things isn't angry.

She mostly just feels sad.

Bobby wraps his arm around her until she curls into his side again and takes the mostly-full cookie box off his desk. He takes one before he hands the rest to her, holding out a fresh glass of milk.

"Or you can just pretend you woke up early," he says and Brittany smiles a little.

They watch _Spongebob_ in silence and she worries he can hear how loudly she's thinking when he reaches up to scratch at her head at the same time he strokes Lord Tubbington behind his ears.

"Do you want to talk about it yet?" he asks softly.

She shakes her head and scratches at Tubb's back instead. "No," she mumbles.

He glances at her. "I'm not like Mom and Dad, Bee," he says and Brittany knows that. She's happy about that. "You can tell me anything."

Even to Bobby, she doesn't know what she'd say. She feels like he'd probably be madder than her parents if he knew what she'd spent her time doing, for better reasons.

"I'm okay," she nods. "I'll get over it."

"Over what?"

She shrugs and takes another cookie from the box. "Doesn't matter."

"Is it about Santana?"

The sound of her name, said out loud, makes her heart jump. She sits there for a minute until she feels something bubbling inside of her. She feels like a volcano and she doesn't want Bobby to see because she knows it'll give her away.

"I have to go," she says instead, and leaves without another word.

/

Her dad comes into her room around noon, tapping on the door before letting himself in.

She's clean, fresh from the shower, dressed in nothing but a tank top and some underwear, and her father pauses uncomfortably at the foot of the bed before choosing to move around to the other side and sit at the end of it.

"What are you doing?" he asks, averting his eyes to look out of the window where she's pulled back the canopy of the sheet to look.

She shrugs. "Looking out of the window."

He nods and looks down at the newspaper in his hands. He was probably on his way to the bathroom and only just remembered to come check on her like her mom probably asked him to. "Are you ready to explain yourself yet?"

She shakes her head and keeps her eyes looking out the window. The sun is shining and it's so hot but she has nowhere to go. She can't go outside. There's no pool to float in. There's no ocean to run and jump into. She usually loves it when the sun shines but today the thought of being underneath it makes her feel sick. She's been trying to work out why.

"Brittany," her dad starts and he pauses. Brittany can tell because of that pause that he wasn't told to say any of this. But her dad isn't like her mom. If he sees a problem he has to try and work it out. To him, she's always been a problem. To her mom, she's just another word with no root or translation. "If you were in trouble, you'd tell us, wouldn't you?"

She glances at him. Her eyes dance over his features, how his own hide behind his glasses and don't look at her.

He breathes out. "I'm just saying, you're young, you're dating, you're adventurous... if there was something worrying you, you'd come to me or your mom, wouldn't you?" She still just stares at him. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... are things okay with you and that boy you're dating?"

Her brow furrows. "What boy?"

Her dad gestures at his face. "The boy with the glasses and the..." He makes the motions of a wheelchair. Brittany can't smile at his red cheeks.

"Artie?" she says, confused. Her father nods. "I haven't been dating him for months."

He looks relieved. He's about to get up before he pauses and looks back at her. "What about any other boys?"

Her heart drops because she doesn't know how to explain that there's no other boys. Just a girl.

"No," she says. "No one else."

/

She's laying with Tubbs after dinner when it starts raining, the first rumblings of a storm starting.

It makes her blood pump a little faster, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end with the fear.

She's always hated thunderstorms, ever since she was really small. She hates the loud noises and the bright flashing lights because you never know when they're coming. There's no real rhythm to a storm and she hates that. She hates it when there's no order or rhythm to something. She doesn't understand why storms are always changing.

Santana likes storms. She understands them where Brittany doesn't. When they were little, Santana used to make her call her so she could talk to her through them because her parents let her have a cell phone in case her nanny did something she wasn't supposed to. She used to talk to her and sing to her until the storm had a rhythm. Brittany would close her eyes and picture Santana's face and listen to her and she wouldn't be able to hear the thunder, she wouldn't be able to see the lightning. She'd imagine Santana singing and the rain would stop sounding scary and it would start to sound like people applauding for Santana because of her pretty voice.

Santana still made her call her when they got older and Brittany knew that she shouldn't be scared of storms anymore. She used to just make Brittany talk to her for a while, but then it always ended up with Santana singing to her. Even if Santana was laying right beside her and there was a storm, she'd always sing to her. Even when Artie was there, Santana would always make her call her and Brittany would go hide in the bathroom just so she could talk to her, especially after Artie made fun of her because she was scared that one time.

After they spoke at their lockers, and after Santana told her she loved her, there was a really big storm. It was the first time Brittany figured that she'd really done something wrong when Santana didn't answer her phone when it started storming. She just let it ring and ring and ring until Brittany had to bury her head under her pillow because she didn't know what to do.

She was glad that, when the next storm happened, they were talking again. Santana called her and spoke to her for a while before asking her if she was okay. Brittany just asked her to sing "Songbird" again. It was better than the first time because Santana thought she'd fallen asleep when it was over. She wasn't, she just didn't want Santana to know that she'd made her cry again. It was better because she got to hear Santana whisper that she loved her more than anything before she hung up.

It makes her cry now because she doesn't have that anymore. It's like that storm where she was alone all over again and she finds herself pulling the quilt up over her head because there's nothing else. She doesn't know what to do, especially when the thunder gets so loud it feels like it's shaking the house.

She sings to herself, murmurs the words to "Landslide" and "Songbird" to herself over and over again, but it doesn't work. It doesn't work even when she's terrified and sobbing into her pillow.

Except, she doesn't even really feel scared at all.

Just sad.

Even Lord Tubbington notices.

He swats his paw at her face until she grabs it and kisses it softly. He looks at her like he doesn't understand what she's doing. She's not sure he's ever seen her cry before. He looks worried.

She shakes her head and cuddles him closer, tugs on his paw again when he swats it at a tear on her chin.

"I miss her, Tubbs," she whispers, the words barely making a sound. "I miss her."

_Thursday_

"Robert, get up," is the first thing she wakes up to and she jolts up in Bobby's bed, not entirely sure how she got here.

Beside her, Bobby lies shocked, not sure why he's being woken up. He groans and sits up, stretching out his limbs.

"What is it?" he says, running his hands back through his unruly dark hair that points up in all different directions. "What's the problem?"

Their mother picks up discarded pillows from the floor, tossed aside DVD cases that Bobby can never be bothered to put back on the shelf, and shoves them on the bed at their feet.

"You're not supposed to be encouraging her," she says carefully. "Your sister is supposed to be thinking of an explanation to why she felt it fit to disappear across the country for a month even though she was explicitly told not to, not fooling around down here watching movies all night. You're meant to be a positive influence."

Bobby flops back onto the bed and covers his face with a pillow for a moment before sitting back up. "She's been having trouble sleeping," he says as Brittany curls her knees up to her chest. "She's... she was nervous because of the storm and it's quieter down here. We watched movies because I went upstairs to the bathroom and she was scared of the storm."

"She's seventeen," her mother says. "She can take care of herself, just like she can take responsibility for her actions." She turns to Brittany with her hands on her hips. "Have you got anything to say today? Is that why you're down here?"

"No, ma'am," she says instantly. Bobby flops back onto the bed and sighs. Her mother ignores him.

"No, ma'am," she repeats and lets out her own disappointed sigh. "And I'm guessing you're feeling well again?"

Brittany looks up at her and nods. "Yes, ma'am," she says even though her mother's already turned away to pile the DVDs on the shelf.

"Then I won't let you sit around the house all day doing nothing and forcing your brother to take pity on you," she says, groaning as she stands back up straight. "You're going to get dressed and you're going to watch your sisters and give your brother a break."

Bobby cuts through any response Brittany's ready to make with a hand on her shoulder. "No, Mom," he says. "Don't be silly, I can do that."

"No, no," her mother says and brushes off her skirt as she turns away from them both. "Brittany can do it. You can do whatever you want."

/

Whatever he wants turns out to be sitting at the kitchen table reading while Brittany helps her younger sisters bake cupcakes.

When she says she doesn't want to lick the bowl, they look at her funny. They look worried, like they think she might be crazy or something.

"Are you sure?" Maddy asks from where she stands on her special baking footstool. Brittany nods, placing the paper cases inside the tins for the next lot. "That's weird."

Brittany shrugs and takes the tin over to them, where they're half mixing the next lot of cupcake batter, half still licking the bowl from the last.

"Maybe I'm feeling a little weird," she says softly. Both her sisters stop and look at each other before staring at her. It makes her feel nervous.

"Are you depressed?" Jenna asks. Bobby instantly splutters a laughing into the mug of coffee he's sipping from. Brittany turns to glare at him reproachfully.

"Yeah," Maddy says, shifting around and lifting herself to sit up on the counter. Usually, their mom would make her tell her to get down but Brittany knows there's no harm. She's away from the oven and sharp knives. She passes them both clean spoons so they can start putting the batter in the cases. "Are you on drugs, Britt?"

Both she and Bobby pause and look at each other then, shocked by the question, but Brittany shakes it off quickly. She shrugs her shoulders and looks at them carefully. She wonders what they'd say if they knew what she'd done the last time she was baking.

"I had a couple of Tylenol before I got dressed," she tells them honestly.

They look at each other in a silent conference before nodding in acceptance like that must be it. Brittany smiles a little because she's kinda missed how simple things are when she's with them, even if they are asking her if she's on drugs.

/

They get bored of baking before they're even out of the oven, full up on the batter instead of the actual cakes, and run to go play with their friends instead of waiting behind to make sure they turn out okay.

Bobby puts down his book the minute that Brittany takes the last cupcake out of the tin and onto a plate. His arms fold over the table only to reach out and swipe some batter off her arm a second later.

"So," he says a moment later. "Santana, huh?"

His voice is quiet but it's so loud in the empty kitchen. Mixed with his words, she flinches from it and is forced to take a deep steadying breath. She fusses around, not sure how to get comfortable while talking about this, before finally deciding to prop her chin up on her hand.

"Yeah," she says softly.

His hand reaches out to grip at her spare one, clutched around her bicep. "What happened, Bumblebee?"

Brittany opens her mouth to speak but, the moment she tries, she finds that she has no idea what she's supposed to say. She still doesn't really understand what happened yet, so, instead, she decides to go with the facts.

"She got into college," she whispers, her voice cracking worse than the eggshells she just put in the trash. "She's moving to California next year."

Bobby's eyes widen in surprise and pride and it makes Brittany happy because she knew he'd understand that. Other than her, she's pretty sure Bobby's the only other person who knows how truly awesome Santana can be. She's not the bitchy cheerleader to him, she's his kid sister's annoying best friend who he's known since they were in kindergarten.

His hand tightens around her hand and she looks up at him too quickly. It makes a tear fall from her eye.

"And how do you feel about that?" he asks softly.

Brittany shrugs her shoulders. Tears roll down her cheeks, even as a smile grows on her face. She meant it when she told Santana she was proud of her; she's _so_ proud of her. If she's proud of her for nothing else, she's glad to be proud of her for that. It's just, she doesn't understand why every time she thinks about it, remembering that Santana's not going to be here in a year makes her want to cry and never stop.

"I don't know," she shrugs. "I don't know."

Bobby's shoulders slump and he sighs, just like he gets it.

_Friday_

Her mom wakes her up early, pulling back her drapes, opening the window and yanking down the sheets to her fort before pulling back the covers.

"Time to get up, you're going to dance class," she says pulling the covers back away from her again when she reaches down for them. Somewhere nearby, she hears Lord Tubbington hissing. "Brittany, get up. I'm not going to let you sit around all day. You're getting some exercise. It'll make you feel healthier and I'll know where you are."

She tries to disagree with her mother all the way to the same dance school she's been going to since she was little. Her mom ignores her, dropping her sisters off at friends houses before they pull up outside. Brittany rolls her eyes as her mother tells her to wait on the front steps once she's done so that she can come pick her up.

The people at dance class have never really liked her. Most of them are serious dancers who go to McKinley but hate cheerleaders, because they don't think it's proper dance, or they go to a different school. Either way, most of them think bad things about her, even though she's a hundred times better than most of them. She hears them all groan when she walks back in.

She guesses they're just mad that Ms. Stacey won't let them do as many solos now that she's back. They don't get that Ms. Stacey has been Brittany's dance teacher since she was three. No one understands that this is the only place she can go where she's judged solely on what she can do rather than what she can't.

Ms. Stacey tells her that she's in good shape for someone who hasn't danced in almost two months. Brittany doesn't know how to tell her that she's tried to keep up. She knows that Ms. Stacey talks to her mom and she doesn't want her mom thinking she ran away for a month just so she could dance and goof around with her friends. It doesn't matter because a second later, Ms. Stacey's asking her if she's thought about dance school anymore.

That's another thing Brittany doesn't know how to talk about either. Not anymore.

"You haven't got very long to decide," Ms. Stacey tells her happily when she says she doesn't know yet. Brittany smiles and picks up her bag, throws it over her shoulder, even as her mind reminds her that it's a year. She's got a year to figure out how she won't get left behind.

"I'll see you next week?" Ms. Stacey asks. Brittany just smiles and leads herself out of the studio.

/

"I've got to go get groceries," her mom says once she finally pulls up outside the dance school. Brittany climbs into the passenger seat and takes the bottle of water her mom hands her. It's cold and she rolls it in her hands before she opens it. "How was class?"

"Okay," she says softly, wiping away some water as it trickles down her chin.

Her mother hands her a tissue from the travel pack she keeps stuffed in the center console. "Drink more slowly," she tells her softly as she pulls away from the curb. "You'll give yourself the hiccups."

Brittany nods. "Sorry."

"What did Ms. Stacey have to say?" her mother asks, peering in the rear view to look at her sisters.

Brittany shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders. "She was just talking."

Her mother nods and they drive for another five minutes before she talks again.

"Did she ask you again about dance school?" she asks. Brittany nods and sips her water for something to do. "And?"

Brittany shakes her head. "I don't know yet."

"Brittany..."

"I don't know if I want to go to dance school," she says because she still doesn't know if she wants to do that.

Her mom and Ms Stacey keep talking about her going to Ohio State. Her dad works there and it would probably help her to know someone because it'll give her a better chance of getting in. It also means that her dad can keep an eye on her and make sure she's doing okay. Her grandparents and her Uncle Charlie live there too, so she'll always have help if she ever needs it. She guesses it's a good idea but every time she thinks about it, it makes her feel weird, like something's wrong with her.

She's glad when her mom doesn't say anything else about it.

/

Brittany walks behind her family as they walk around the grocery store, Jenna and Maddy fighting over who gets to push the cart while her mom puts all the stuff inside of it.

She hates going to the grocery store because they just tease you with all the different stuff they have but you can never afford all of the stuff you want. Her mom used to get mad at her when she was little because she used to put stuff she wasn't supposed to in the cart. She still does sometimes, but never when she's with her mom.

Her footsteps slow as she remembers. She suddenly feels nauseous, her head heavy and her body exhausted.

The last time she did it was when she was with Santana in Florida.

Santana used to think that it was cute. Brittany's not sure if she ever figured out that she only used to do it because it'd make her smile.

"Mom," she says, suddenly, before her mouth has even told her head that it needs to speak. Her mom looks up at her from the packs of meat in her hands and looks at her curiously. Brittany clutches her hand to her chest, suddenly breathless. "I don't feel so good. Can I wait outside?"

Her mom moves closer to her, resting her hand over her forehead. "What's wrong?"

Brittany blinks. She wants to cry. "I feel sick."

"Anything else?"

"No, just sick," she says. "Can I go sit on the bench outside? I won't move, I promise. I just... I need some air."

Something flashes in her mom's eyes and Brittany feels weird because it makes her want to wrap herself around her mother instead of walking out of the store. It goes away too quickly for her to do it, though, and a second later her mother is nodding at her.

"Don't go anywhere," she says and Brittany nods, speeding away.

/

She sits herself on the only empty bench around the other side of the store and clutches her hands to her stomach to stop herself from throwing up. Her eyes sting with tears and she stubbornly refuses to let them fall, blinking them away furiously.

She doesn't know what's wrong with her. She doesn't know why she keeps getting upset when she should be so mad.

"Brittany?"

She looks up and stares around. Her eyes are so watery she feels like she's in a fish bowl. She blinks furiously until she can make out someone tall wearing the blue Walmart vest. She blinks harder until her vision clears and jumps back a little when she sees Dave Karofsky stood in front of her.

"Are you okay?" he asks and she automatically checks both of his hands, just in case. All she sees is a brown paper bag and a bottle of water.

She nods and wipes at any tears that might have slipped down her cheeks, expecting him to leave her alone. Instead, he sits down beside her and points the bottle of water towards her.

"I haven't drunk any yet..." he says but she shakes her head. If she drinks any more water she'll need to pee and the Walmart customer restroom scares her. He puts the bottle between them and it makes her narrow her eyes because it feels like he's doing it just in case she changes her mind.

"You work here?" she asks softly. He looks down at his vest and shrugs.

"I needed a summer job and this was all I could get," he explains with a smile.

She narrows her eyes. "I thought you moved."

She remembers the relief she felt when she found out that Santana probably wouldn't be able to date him anymore. It was like a fire had been put out in her belly and breathing felt cooler and easier, like after she's brushed her teeth.

"Only schools," he says and his shrug is tighter and more awkward than before. "Things weren't really working out for me at McKinley."

She narrows her eyes because she feels really mad then, like really mad because how can he not realize that he had the only thing worth having at McKinley. How can he not get that everything else might have totally sucked and he might have done some totally not awesome things but he had the only thing at McKinley worth having?

"You had Santana," she says because it hurts not to. It still hurts anyway because she starts to feel all the things she feels when she's about to really cry. Her cheeks start to ache, her eyes start to burn and there's this tingle at the back of her throat that makes her want to cough even though it won't go away.

He shrugs and it makes her mad. "Santana and I..." he trails off. "She wasn't what I was looking for."

Brittany turns to him, her eyes wide, just like they'd been when Artie had said all those bad things about Santana. It makes her angry when people don't see how awesome Santana is. It makes her forget that she's meant to be mad at her.

"You were lucky," she says and her tummy bubbles with anger. "Santana might be a bitch and she might be mean to a lot of people but you were lucky to have her. She wanted to be with you. Do you understand how awesome that is? Do you understand how good you had it?" She pauses because something aches in her chest, right where she knows her heart is beating. She can feel it. "She's... she's _amazing_."

She gasps because the words feel so easy. They feel strange too. She feels like she's saying something else with her words, that there's something else that's there but it isn't loud enough to hear. It's in her head and she can't hear it. It makes her panic because she hates it when there's something in her head and she can't work out what it is.

"She didn't tell you, did she?"

Her eyes snap to Karofsky and she'd almost forgot he was there. She looks at him, panicked and heart beating too fast, wondering if he knows what she's saying because she can't figure it out.

"I don't..."

"Brittany, I'm gay." She doesn't think her eyes could get any bigger and words are kind of lost to her now. She stares at him and she knows these words but she hasn't figured out what they mean yet. "You're about the fourth person that knows that and I'm not sure if I've ever said it out loud but it's true."

"You're..." she starts. "You're... Did Santana know?"

Karofsky laughs but then he stops when he sees the confused and hurt look on her face. He takes the bottle of water from between them and uncaps it, takes two large gulps from it that almost make it half empty.

"Yeah," he says softly and Brittany watches as he leans forward on his elbows. She watches him carefully, more confused than when her dad once showed her one of his math equations. Except, something tugs at her and her eyes widen. She doesn't know how to ask without outing Santana.

"She wanted to be Prom Queen because she was trying to impress you," Dave goes on and Brittany thinks that maybe he's answered that question for her.

Except, she doesn't want to believe it. "No," she says and she shakes her head. "No, she was trying to win Prom Queen because..." she trails off when she realizes that Santana got Kurt back but she never got Prom Queen. "She wanted to bring Kurt back... She... She was with you because she was scared... She was... She was trying to hide..."

Karofsky looks back at her and shakes his head. "She wanted to impress you." He shrugs and Brittany looks down at her hands. They're shaking again and they don't look like her hands. "She wanted people to... respect her, I don't know. All I know is that after that thing in came out in the school newspaper about us doing it in a cometary, she called me and I picked her up and she was crying. She was talking about how she wasn't good enough for you. How you deserved better... better than someone who would make you wait..."

Brittany's eyes widen and she shakes her head. Dave reaches out, his hand covering hers as they shake against her knee. Her mouth opens but she doesn't understand. Santana was hiding. She was being scared. She was... She was taking her step back like she always did. She wasn't...

It feels like her lungs don't work anymore. Dave gets up off the bench and kneels in front of her. He shakes his head and his eyes dart over her like he doesn't know what to do, but he never lets go of her hand.

"God, Brittany..." he whispers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you..."

She shakes her head because it's okay. It's really okay. He softens and he doesn't look scary like he used to. He kinda looks like one of those huge teddy bears that you can barely lift up. When he smiles at her, it makes her feel better.

"She wasn't hiding?" she whispers and he smiles kindly, shaking his head. "She wasn't with you to hide from everyone?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "No," he says and he looks at her like he knows things he'll never tell her. She wonders what Santana said about her, what he knows about them, but she doesn't dare question him. Just knowing that Santana told someone is good enough for her. "No," he says and he squeezes her hand in reassurance, like an exclamation mark at the end of a sentence. "I was the one that was hiding. She let me hide behind her while she did everything she could to make herself better for you."

The word "better" rings in Brittany's mind. She's heard Santana say that word so many times in the past few weeks and she didn't understand what it meant until now.

"The only lucky one here is you," Dave says softly and her cheeks tickle with the need to smile. "You're the one who's got a girl out there who loves you so much that she can't let you settle for the worst version of herself. She changed things for you. She got Kurt back and she made things better for people like us so she could be with you." He pauses and Brittany sees something pass across his eyes that looks familiar. She's seen it cross Santana too many times. Sometimes she thinks it's shame but sometimes she thinks it's disappointment. "She does everything for _you._"

He looks away from her then and shakes his head.

"That's the opposite of hiding," he says quietly. "I wish I could be that brave."

It's like in a cartoon when an anvil falls from the sky and hits someone in the head. Dave's words hit her like an anvil to the head, except it doesn't give her a huge bump and a headache, it makes her feel like she's lost the weight of it in worry. She wants to ask him more questions, she wants him to tell her all the things she doesn't know yet. She wants to ask him if he's okay, if he needs help. She wants to know everything.

She hates that that's the moment her mom decides to come around the corner looking for her.

"I have to go," she says softly. Dave stands and helps her to her feet. She pauses for a moment but then she wraps her arms around him. He jolts a little. "Thank you," she whispers.

He waves it off when she lets him go. She smiles at him and makes to walk over to where her mother is trying to control the shopping cart when he calls her back.

"Yeah?" she says breathlessly. The need to cry hums through her body like an ache.

He shifts awkwardly on the spot. "If you see him," he starts. "Will you say hi to Kurt for me?"

Her mouth drops open at the words and it's like another, slightly smaller, anvil hitting her in the head. She nods and watches as he starts to walk away, waving to her.

"Britt?" her mom says. She turns back and stumbles over towards her mother. "You okay?"

Brittany just shrugs.

/

She makes it until dinner before she cries.

She's pretty sure it's the first time that someone's burst into tears at their dinner table.

Her dad looks at her like he's not sure what he's supposed to do.

Luckily Bobby's there to handle it. He leads her to her bedroom and makes her sit down on her bed waiting until the tears subside before he says anything. And even then, he waits for her to speak first. She shrugs away the arm he tries to put around her because even as some of the weight feels like it's being lifted away, different weight replaces it heavily on her shoulders.

"I messed up," she chokes out as this horrible panic washes over her. She can't describe it, she can't understand it. She just lets it happen, lets her body do whatever it wants to do because she has no other way.

Bobby sits on the edge of her bed as she gets up, unable to keep still, desperate to go where her feet can't decide to walk yet. He watches her carefully. "Messed what up, Bumblebee? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Santana, she..." she cuts off as her body shivers with emotion. "She was trying... She was trying to do everything she could so we could be together and I didn't notice... I didn't pay any attention. I got mad at her and I tried to force her... I tried to push her and I didn't notice... I didn't notice... I just..."

She crouches to the floor, tucking her knees to her chest, her hands on her face. She feels so lost and all she wants is for Santana to be there to lift her up and hold her.

"I pushed her away," she sobs out and her entire body shakes with it. "I pushed her away and I ruined it and she's leaving in a year and I've lost her..." Her legs buckle underneath her until she's a sloppy tangled mess on the floor. "I pushed her away and showed her how not worth it I am..."

Sounds leave her that she never knew that she could make before. She feels so stupid, so utterly, utterly lost and she cries because there's nothing else she can do. How could Santana want her now? How could Santana want her after she was so horrible, after all the things she did?

"I ruined it," she says when Bobby kneels in front of her. "I just... I wanted her so much... I wanted her... I was so scared I'd never get her. I was so scared... I didn't mean... I thought she was pushing me away. I thought..."

He reaches out for her and she lets him, she lets him pull her towards him and hold her. He hushes her and lets her sob a wet patch of tears into the shoulder of his shirt. He sways her softly until she's just clinging to him and whimpering.

She nuzzles into him and sniffles at her tears. "I've – I've..." she chokes and nuzzles herself closer because she feels silly. "I've never – I've never felt like this before."

Bobby holds her like he used to when they were little, when she was five and he was ten and she'd graze her knee and he'd carry her to kitchen to clean her up. He holds the back of her head steady and she realizes that he's probably the only person other than Santana who's really seen her cry. His palm strokes over her hair and he coos at her like she's still five. Sometimes, she's sure she'll always be his baby sister to him.

"How do you feel, Bumblebee?" he asks, whispering into her hair and he pulls her into his lap. "How does Santana make you feel?"

She sniffs and rests her chin on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she pictures Santana in her head. Her beautiful dark brown eyes and her dorky smile make Brittany's heart jump and she holds Bobby closer because she can't stop herself from missing her so badly that it hurts her chest.

"Miserable," she says first and the words shock her at the way they splutter out. "She makes me feel miserable and lonely, and hurt and... sad."

Her eyes flutter open and she looks at herself now, without Santana. She thinks about herself now and how much worse she feels all those things right now without her.

"But she makes happy too," she whispers and her lip trembles. "She makes me feel happier than I ever even knew I could be. She makes me feel loved, more loved than I knew that a person could love me. She's the only person who's made me feel like I can do anything. Since the moment I met her, she's always believed in me. She's always thought the best of me. She makes me feel like I'll never be scared and alone again."

Her voice breaks and she buries her mouth against Bobby's shoulder, glad that he squeezes her tightly. "She's always made me feel like I was worth something, even when I didn't know how, but all I want to be worth is enough for her to love me."

Her voice gets tight and she clutches at Bobby because these words feel old and dusty inside of her heart like they should have been shook out and aired a long time ago.

"She's hurt me so badly and she's made me so miserable that I wish I could just stop," she sniffs. "But I don't want anyone else," she shakes her head. "I can't stop wanting her, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I want to, I can't stop loving her because it hurts. It hurts more than anything else."

Bobby sighs and she feels him stroke his hand over the back of her head again before he runs it down her arm. He holds her by her arms as he pries her away from his body. He strokes her hair from her face and thumbs away some of her tears before shaking his head.

"I think I know what this feeling is," he says softly and Brittany perks up at his words. She blinks and sniffs away her tears and listens to him carefully. He shakes his head. "You're in love with her."

Brittany narrows her eyes at him, confused. "I know."

He smiles at her and shakes his head. "No, Bee," he says softly. "I don't think you do." She frowns, hurt. He clicks his tongue and shifts her in his lap. "This hurt feeling? That's what being in love feels like."

She scoffs at him and shakes her head. "No, it doesn't. Being in love feels awesome. It's like..." she trails off and shakes her head, realizing she doesn't actually have that many words. "It's like... butterflies and stuff. It doesn't hurt. It didn't hurt with Artie, not until he was mean to me."

Bobby looks at her. "And is how you felt about Artie in any way like how you feel about Santana?"

She narrows her eyes and thinks. Artie never really made her feel any of the things that Santana makes her feel. He never really made her feel all that loved, he never made her feel good about herself, he just made her feel like she was wanted. She guesses that was what she liked so much. She guesses that was why she stayed with him, because she was so scared that, at some point, Santana would stop wanting her like she always did.

When she looks at Bobby, she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't have to, he already figured out her answer.

"I think being in love..." he starts softly. "... is, when even the bad stuff outweighs the good, you can't imagine being without that person, when being hurt is always going to be worth it. Is that what it feels like with Santana?"

Her lip trembles. She nods because it does. She thinks back, momentarily, to when she asked Santana that same question, when she asked her how Brittany made her feel. It suddenly makes sense, what she said, that even though being with Brittany makes her feel so awful sometimes, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because she's happy.

She thinks of all Santana's beautiful, honest words and she hates herself a little bit because how could they be anything but true. How could Santana have been pushing her away after she said all that?

She gasps and her face falls as she looks at Bobby.

"I'm in love with her," she nods as she crumples into tears.

Bobby nods in agreement. "You're in love with her," he parrots.

Brittany's suddenly overcome with what she's sure is regret and guilt. How could she throw Santana away like that when all she's ever tried to do is love her?

She suddenly feels sick, like she's finally fought this ugly thing inside of her and it has to come out. The bitterness and the pain, they need to leave her body so she can get rid of this weight. She gags suddenly and watches Bobby's eyes widen. He looks around them, searching for something and grabs her trash can, putting it in front of her just in time for her to heave the nothing that's in her stomach into it.

And it makes nothing better. Realizing all these things don't make her feel better; they make her feel worse.

Trying to convince herself that she could live without Santana was hard enough already. She knows it's only going to be harder, now that she knows she doesn't want to.

_Saturday_

She knows she shouldn't, but she feels like she's trapped and cooped up in her room. Her house doesn't feel big enough for the freedom she needs.

She waits until she knows everybody's gone to bed before she sneaks outside, closing the front door quietly behind her as she clutches her sneakers in one hand and her keys in the other. She pulls them on as she wanders down the path to the sidewalk and starts running as fast as she can.

She doesn't care how much trouble she gets herself in because the burst of fresh and fast air in her lungs feels like the perfect way to make the pain go away.

Her feet take her wherever they see fit and she notices, as runs from one end of this stupid town to the other in too quick an amount of time, how small it actually is.

She knows it would feel too big without Santana and that's what scares her most, that this is how big her world will be without Santana, that she'll have to live her entire life knowing that her world could have been bigger but she wasn't good enough, that she wasted it.

She wishes she was smart enough to know how to fix it. She wishes she had a clue how to get Santana back, she wishes she knew how to make her forgive her.

But she doesn't, so she goes home instead.

/

It's almost nine-thirty.

She didn't know she'd been gone that long.

Her legs don't even hurt from running.

Maybe she could become a marathon runner.

"Where the hell have you been?" her mother says when she wanders into the kitchen, searching for something to drink.

Brittany looks at her, panting for breath, and sees that she's still dressed in her pajamas. Her mother slams down her coffee mug when she doesn't answer and it makes all the people in the room – her, her dad, Bobby, SJ – jump at the sound.

"You can't just get up in the middle of the night and take off without telling anybody, Brittany!" she says and there it is. For the first time, she hears her mother raise her voice. "Anything could have happened to you, do you understand that? You could have been killed or kidnapped or anything! What were you thinking?"

She opens the fridge instead, ignoring her mother and just getting madder than she's ever been in her life. All she can think is that it's been seventeen years and they're only just now worried about her safety.

"You didn't care before," she says softly. "What's different now?"

"Excuse me?" her dad says because her mom kinda looks like someone just slapped her in the face with a wet fish.

She puts down the bottle of water in her hand instead of opening it. She hates it here. She never wanted to but she does. She hates how little everyone believes in her, how little they miss her when she's gone.

"You suck," she says and she hates how nervous she is. "You suck. I disappear for a night and you get mad at me. I was gone for _four weeks_ and you didn't even try and look for me."

Her mom scoffs. Her dad looks at her through his glasses. "Why would we have looked for you? You told us you were going?"

Brittany laughs and she feels like she's going to cry again. Bobby reaches for her hand but she swats him away.

"Because maybe that's what I was _trying _to make you do in the first place?" Her voice breaks and Bobby tries to take her hand again. She refuses him for a second time. "No," she says looking at him stubbornly. They've been having silent conversations about this for years about how they hate this way their parents treat them. "Don't you get it? I know I'm not good with words like you or numbers like Dad, I know I'm not your first kid and a damn genius like Bobby is," she laughs. "I _know_ that I don't like to read books like SJ does or do chemistry like Jenna. Maddy can already speak French better than I can speak English and I know that I'm not like that, okay?" She feels the tears start to drip down her cheeks and she wipes them away furiously. "I know that I'm not what you wanted and I'm used to that but it doesn't mean you have to stop giving a crap about me altogether. I know I'm a disappointment but I'm still your kid..." her voice breaks. "I'm still your kid."

"Brittany..."

She shakes her head. "I went to Florida because I was sick of sitting in that damn stupid tent in Colorado listening to you talk to all your smart people friends and having nobody to talk to. I went because there's this one person, this one too-beautiful girl who believes I can do anything, and I was terrified that if I let her go to Florida for a month and I didn't go with her she'd see all the same things that you do. I didn't want to be useless to her, I didn't want her to see how not... good I am." She lifts her chin adamantly and puffs out her chest. "Because I'm in love with her. I'm in love with Santana."

Her parents stare at her. "I'm in love with her and I want to be good for her and that's why I went," she whispers overcome with a rush of missing her. "That's what you wanted to hear and I know that I've just disappointed you more and sound more stupid than ever, so..."

She shakes her head and braces herself on the back of one of the chairs around the breakfast table. Bobby reaches to cover her hand with his and she lets him.

"That's the silliest thing I've ever heard," her dad says all of sudden. "All of this is because you're in love?"

Brittany glances up and nods once. Bobby's fingers tighten around hers.

Her dad breathes out and there's something to it that sounds less like anger and more like relief. "Why would you do something so silly?"

Her mother snorts and Brittany looks up, wincing as they smile at each other.

"This coming from the man who got kicked out of his apartment in college because he spent all his rent on a plane ticket to visit a girl in Amsterdam he'd only known a week," she says with a smile that Brittany's not really sure she's ever seen before.

She, too, looks relieved and she stares, confused as her mother rounds the kitchen and comes to stand in front of her. When she wraps her arms around Brittany and brings her in close, Brittany doesn't know what to do with the gesture. It only gets harder to know what to do when her dad gets up and moves around to hug her from behind. She's sure that's what makes her cry.

"We worried about you every single day," her mom says softly.

Her dad kisses the top of her head. "Every single day," he repeats. "But, sweetheart, we have no idea what's going through your head. We don't know what you want or what you're thinking and we don't know how to talk to you."

"We spent every single day wondering where you were and what you were doing," her mom tells her. "We texted you every day asking you to check back with us but we didn't want to force you. We wanted you to come back when we knew that you were ready. Except, we don't think you were ready to come back, were you?"

Brittany shakes her head. "No."

Her dad turns her in her mother's arms until she can hug him. "We've been so worried about you this week. We went from anything to pregnant to on drugs to running from the law, but we still knew that we didn't have it." He pushes her back. "You're in love? That's it? You're in love." She nods. "Jeez, thank God for that."

Her mom laughs and she turns her again until Brittany's facing her. "And Bumblebee, we don't care what you're not, okay? You're our baby girl and that's all we care about. If you're happy, we're happy."

Brittany smiles.

It shouldn't be this easy but, as her parents continue to hold her in the middle of her kitchen, she guesses it is.

/

She somehow ends up sandwiched between her parents on the couch in the den watching _Spongebob_ while she and Bobby try to explain what it's about.

"Mom?" she says when her mom is sat there still confused and her dad looks like he's totally getting into it. "Did Dad really fly all the way to Amsterdam to see you?"

Her mom hums. "Mhm, yup. He was so goofy. He flew all the way in and he made this big love confession about how he didn't want to live another moment without me thinking that I'd moved back to Amsterdam and forgot that it was only spring break."

Her dad scoffs. "To be fair, her evil landlady told me that she was never coming back and I panicked. You know how it is?" Brittany feels a buzzing in her tummy when her dad gives her a wink.

Her mom nods. "She was a mean old bag," she agrees. "But even though he acted like a fool, look where it got him." She smiles and Brittany thinks about it. Married with a house and five kids isn't so bad, she guesses. It's pretty awesome actually. Her mother nudges her. "What happened?"

Her mood saddens. She shakes her head. "I messed it up."

Her dad turns to her. "So fix it."

"How?"

Her parents just smile.

_Sunday_

Everything's easier on a full stomach and night of sleep, she remembers as she sets her camera up the next morning.

"It's a good idea," her dad says as he makes sure she's in the frame.

She nods. "I guess so," she says even though she's not so sure. If she was Santana, she wouldn't even think about watching it.

"We're going to go to the store," her dad says softly. "So you'll have all the privacy you need."

She smiles. "Thanks, Dad."

He leans down and kisses her on the top of her head. "You're welcome, Bumblebee."

/

Her parents find her after they come back, editing it and making it ready.

"You're pretty good at all this stuff," her dad says as her mom hands her a milkshake. "Have you thought about pursuing it as a career?"

She shrugs. It's fun and all but it's not what she wants to spend the rest of her life doing.

"Well," he says and she sees him cock his head towards the door at her mom. "You do whatever makes you happy," he says but draws back. "After you're done being grounded, of course."

She smiles but she's not so worried about being cooped up in this house anymore.

/

"Do you think I should send it?"

She's been laying on Bobby's bed for the last hour and a half with the email all made up and ready to send.

Bobby lays beside her, throwing a baseball up into the air and catching it. "I think you should send it," he nods.

"But, what if – "

He stops tossing the ball and turns to her. "You won't know unless you try."

She can't disagree, so she hits send.

_Monday_

It's easier.

It's like the one thing she thought would make her parents think she was stupid is the only thing that was ever able to bring them together. She thinks that's mostly due to the fact that her dad's glad she's not pregnant and her mom's glad she's not on drugs, but it doesn't matter.

It's hard for it to when even SJ is being nice to her and her mom let them have Taco Bell for dinner.

This is how things should have always been. She should have always been sat with her legs tossed up on Bobby's lap and her head resting on her mom's shoulder as they fight over watching movies. Maybe she should feel guilty for not speaking up sooner because they would have had more of this family time, but it's hard to when one part of her life feels good again.

She really wishes that she could make the other pieces feel good too.

But all she can do is hope.

/

The phone call comes at eleven at night.

Her mom finds her watching horror movies with Bobby and SJ in his room and stands at the foot of the bed holding the phone.

"Britt, sweetie," she says softly. "There's... come take this phone call upstairs, honey."

/

"Hello?"

"Britt?"

She pauses. "Artie?" she says, confused.

He breathes out. "Britt, something happened."

_Tuesday_

Her mom wraps her arm around her.

She can't stop crying.

She presses a kiss to her forehead.

"It's going to be okay," she whispers. "It's going to be okay."

Brittany cries harder.

She knows it isn't.


	13. Part 10

**Trigger Warning: **There's blood and no so accidental injury.

* * *

><p>Whatever they were all arguing about before quickly doesn't matter when they all hear her thundering down the stairs. They stop and eleven sets of eyes look at her curiously, watching her as she gets to bottom.<p>

She ignores them all and pushes past Mike and Puck, forces Mercedes to jump out of the way, as she tries to get to the bureau by the door, desperate to grab her keys.

Except they're not there. Her hand pats desperately over the dark, aged wood but finds nothing. She lifts mail, tosses aside phone directories and guide books, frantically searching for them. She knows that she set them neatly beside Blaine and Mike's keys, just like they've been doing since they got here, but now all of them are gone. Even the keys to her grandma's caddy.

She feels anger bubble inside of her for what feels like the millionth time that day and rounds on them all. For the first time all trip, she honestly thinks she doesn't give a fuck about any of them. She'd gladly throw all of them off a cliff if it meant she got her damn car keys.

"Where are my fucking keys?" she snaps, even as she uselessly pats down her pockets. "Where are my fucking keys?" she repeats, just as she sees Quinn shift her eyes nervously to Artie. He settles himself more comfortably in his chair at the glance. "Quinn!" she, shouts watching her eyes grow with guilt. She'll hit her if she needs to. She'll punch her for whatever information she has. She'll gladly fucking do it because God knows it's about time. "Where are my fucking keys?"

Quinn shakes her head adamantly but at least she has the decency to look terrified. She glances at Artie before shaking her head over and over again. "It's too late, Santana."

"No," Santana says and there's this little part in the back of her brain that screams at her to think of her dignity, that this is exactly the last thing she wanted and she should stop right now. It's drowned out by the huge instinctive part of her that knows this was her last chance. "You're lying," she growls. "Give me my fucking keys... give me _any _fucking keys. Just give me some _fucking _keys."

They all look away from her as she swings around to all of them with her hand open. They all stare at their feet... All except Artie, who stares off at the wall behind her with refusal in his eyes, and Quinn, who looks at Santana like she doesn't know whether to run from her or hug her.

"No?" Santana says and she knows that they all hate her, she knows that they all think that she's a bitch, but she'd hoped for just a little bit of compassion, some secret understanding to what this means. She briefly wonders what Brittany said to them and feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

"You're all just going to stand there?" she asks gently, her voice softer and more broken than she wanted it to be. She wants to be angry but she's starting to just feel hopeless.

She can see that same hopelessness reflected back in their faces as they look at her. She sees that pity that she was so desperate not to see. It's the one thing she was trying to avoid, one of the reasons she didn't want anyone knowing about them. She knew that she wouldn't be able to handle the looks in everyone's faces when she fucked it up, looking at her with pity knowing that she wasn't good enough.

It's worse than she thought it would be and that's what kicks her into action. That tiny sliver of hope still left alive inside of her that says she can make this better once and for all, makes her run as fast as she can.

/

She's never run so fast in her life. She has no idea how she remembers the way and no idea how fast she gets there. All she knows is that she runs as fast as she can letting her feet lead her where she needs to go.

Her instincts kick in and buzz inside of her. Her brain works a million miles a minute. She doesn't even pause to ask herself where to go. Brittany gets nervous on plane journeys, trains don't come down this far and Brittany will take a bus somewhere even if she's just bored. It's a no-brainer where she has to go, so she runs through the rain to get there, not caring about how her face stings from the onslaught or that her feet are soaked. She just runs without regard for anything.

She comes to a halt outside the Greyhound station and takes a minute to catch her breath and look around. She sees no blonde head of hair, no beautiful blue eyes, and finds her feet moving closer automatically just to get a better look.

It's almost empty inside. A few people mill around inside but she doesn't see Brittany among them. It's all groups of teenagers, families and old couples carrying old suitcases. A wave of panic rushes over her like a tidal wave as she desperately searches the station, checking every inch of it that she can get to. When she finds it devoid of the one thing she wants, she suddenly feels out of breath to the point of pain, gasping for oxygen even as her brain starts to tell her that it's useless, she messed it up, that's it.

It's probably pathetic how she refuses to believe it for a little while longer. The spark of hope is just an ember but she's willing to let it be her everything, even if she's disappointed. She needs it. She needs it more than anything else. It's all she has and she keeps reminding herself of the fact as her feet carry her to the ticket kiosk. She pushes her way to the front of the small line to the counter, oblivious to the shouts of protest.

"When does the next bus leave?" she demands, gasping.

"Miss, if you want a ticket, you'll have to get to the back of the line," the woman says instead of answering her.

Santana shakes her head. "I don't want a fucking ticket, I just want to know when the next bus leaves." The woman tries to open her mouth but Santana chokes out her first whimper and shakes her head. "Please," she begs. "Just tell me when the next bus leaves."

The woman sighs and shakes her head. "Five-thirty," she says. "So, a little over three hours."

Santana feels the hope dying out but she clings to it like a little kid would cling to a teddy bear. She sweeps her hand over her face and finds that it's shaking. The stark and sudden rush of painful embarrassment suddenly rushes through her. She shifts on the spot.

"And what time did the bus before that leave?" she asks, her voice shaking as she tries to hold back the tears.

The woman eyes her and Santana just stares back. She doesn't pay attention to the look in the woman's eyes. Her brain just repeats _she's not here, she's not here, she's not here_ over and over again in disbelief while the tiny, rational part of her brain says _of course she isn't_. She ignores it and looks at the woman and tries to see past her pity. She can feel the burn of everyone in the room's eyes on her, watching the commotion she's made, but she doesn't pay attention to any of it, hanging on the next words that come out of the woman's mouth.

"Nine-thirty this morning," she says and Santana's eyes widen as the words suck the hope from inside her. It feels like everything inside of her is collapsing in on itself like a black hole.

She's too late and it hurts how unsurprising it is.

/

The heaviness of her reality makes it hard to walk. She suddenly feels exhausted, like she climbed Mount Everest only to be told to turn back three-quarters of the way up because it's closed. She staggers out of the station and leans against the wall outside, head arching back against the brick as she tries to catch her breath.

It feels impossible.

"Santana..."

Santana gasps at the sound of Quinn's voice, staring up at the dark, angry sky as rain continues to fall from it, beating against her skin like needles of ice. Her eyes blink against it as she breathlessly tries to understand what happened.

Even as one part of her brain tells her that this is what she deserved, there's still a tiny part at the back of it that knows that none of this should be happening.

"She—she didn't even give me a chance," she chokes, ignoring the part of her that shouts at her, reminding her that Brittany gave her _every_ chance. "I just... I just needed one more chance."

The heaviness of her soaking wet clothes makes her body slump under the weight. She stares ahead of her, blank and unfocused. For the second time in her life, she can see no way forward from what life has given her. It makes anger bubble in her stomach because she was trying so hard, she was trying so hard and she felt like she was moving forward. Despite how slow things were going, it still felt like she was moving so fast she was almost out of orbit with the rest of the world. She thought Brittany understood that. She thought... A sob chokes from deep in her chest and she looks at Quinn hopelessly, desperate for her to understand.

"I just... I just needed one more chance..."

Quinn looks at her and she feels stupid for even thinking that Quinn wouldn't understand. Quinn looks at her so hard with understanding that Santana feels something collapse and tumble inside of her.

"I know," she says and she doesn't reach out for her, doesn't make any move to come closer, just looks at her. "I know," she repeats and doesn't say anything when Santana bursts into tears.

She doesn't even say anything when Santana gets angry and starts beating her fists against the wall in frustration. She just watches and makes sure that no one approaches her, until Santana stops, and lets Quinn lead her to the car.

/

They drive back to the house but Santana makes no move to get out of the car once they're parked in the driveway. Quinn doesn't argue. She seems happy to have the breather, so she cuts the engine and waits for Santana to make the first move as the rain patters against the windshield.

She sits there for long, quiet moments, trying not to feel dizzy from the buzz of words and desperation that whirr around her head. She can't stop thinking about how she had barely left when Brittany climbed on that bus. She can't stop thinking about the fact that there was no pause, no pause whatsoever, before she was walking away.

"I—I don't understand," she whispers and feels the air move when Quinn turns her head to look at her. "She just left?"

Quinn breathes out. "She was upset." Her head shakes. "I don't even think she was thinking about what she was doing, she was so upset. She just... needed to get out of this place."

And Santana can understand that. She can understand that better than anything. She can understand how being in that house feels like she's suffocating under the weight of all these things happening around her that she shouldn't have to deal with. She's sure that Quinn can understand it too.

What happened to this being a trip to relax them? To set their heads on straight so that they could figure everything out once they got back? What happened to that trip? What happened to lounging around at the beach all day and letting their bodies crisp until they're golden brown and bloomed with freckles? What happened to that trip? What happened to reading books on sun-loungers and watching crappy comedy shows once the air gets cooler and the sun goes away? That's the trip that she signed up for. That's what she wanted.

So how the hell did it come to this? To arguments, that she shouldn't even have to be a part of, happening at all hours of the day? How did it come to pregnancy scares and cheating and break-ups and hook-ups and idiotic mistakes? _How_ did she become embroiled in all this _shit_ that makes her body ache from the stress?

This trip was supposed to be her one chance to figure out what her problems are. Her _one _chance. She had every intention of pulling herself together and admitting _everything_ she'd never wanted to say aloud to Brittany. She was going to do it. She had every intention of doing it, even up until an hour ago when she'd walked back through that front door. She was going to give Brittany everything she wanted and now she'll never have the chance. She'll never have the chance and it feels like she should be able to blame someone else for it, but she can't. The only person to blame is herself.

And as Quinn opens her mouth to explain some more, she realizes that she doesn't want to hear it. She can't bear to hear another word of the effects of what _she's _done.

"She—"

"I need a shower," she mumbles, cutting through Quinn's words, and hears Quinn's sigh as she exits the car.

/

They stare at her as she re-enters the house.

Over a dozen beady eyes watch her as she steps in through the front door, lingering there as she waits for Quinn to follow. Her eyes stay trained on the floor and she watches them all shift uncomfortably, none of them sure of what to say or what to think.

The minute that Quinn steps in behind her and shakes off the rain, she heads upstairs, desperate to escape.

/

A trail of clothing leads from the bedroom door to the bathroom and she doesn't care the the shower is still cold when she jumps in straight away; she just cares that her body aches and she needs to be clean. She needs to feel fresh and new for whatever comes next and she stands beneath the spray of water, her forehead resting against the tile, as she lets the water heat up and beat down upon her.

She's exhausted. She feels like she just ran this marathon as hard and fast as she could and she still lost. She didn't win and instead all she has is this embarrassment that she failed, pulled and torn muscles that feel like they're going to ache forever, and a breathlessness that makes her feel like her lungs will never work properly again.

Her hands come up from her sides to brace herself against the tiles and she takes a deep breath, urging everything to stop hurting. She's desperate for the burn at the back of her throat and the sting in the corner of her eyes to stop. Crying would mean that she has something to mourn, but all she has is her own misfortune. It would be pathetic to cry because of her own failure.

If she cries and they see, it'll only give them more that she didn't want them to have. If she cries, it shows how weak she is in the first place.

The world already gained enough over her head today as it is without her letting it see that she's hurting, that she's honest to God, would possibly rather die than exist like this, hurting. Her determination to be strong is all she has left.

The water starts running cold and she hates herself a little bit for momentarily caring that there's none left for them. She stands under it a little longer, liking how the sudden, extreme change in temperature suddenly makes her entire body tingle before it starts going numb.

She only stops when it starts to hurt, when the pain on the outside is matched to the inside, and still waits until it's unbearable. She steps out and grabs the nearest towel, wraps herself in it and then lowers herself to sit in the bathtub as her heart starts to palpitate.

She honestly has no idea what she's doing. She's running on instinct still, movements clumsy and awkward and jagged. She feels like she's tripping and falling, even though she's sitting still. She presses the heel of her hands into the ache in her eyes and tries to push it away. All it does is make her feel less dizzy.

She can feel her body falling apart around her. Her hands shake as she fights away the tears and pulls her knees up to her chest to hold herself together. As her lip begins to tremble, she feels a whimper bubble at the back of her throat and she forces herself to stand up before it can escape. The towel slips as she climbs from the bathtub. She just tugs it loosely around her and forces herself out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, a trail of water from her hair following behind her.

She needs a distraction, something to keep the thoughts out of her mind. She tugs the towel tighter around her body to ground herself and wanders over to the windows. She pulls the drapes closed until the afternoon sun casts burnt colors around the room. It makes her feel unbearably hot, claustrophobic in a way that she likes, that makes her feel safe and comforted. She lets the towel loosen as she wanders over to her grandmother's record player and kneels before the piles of records beside it.

She flicks through them quickly, needing the noise, and chooses the first record she doesn't recognize so that she can get lost in it. Her fingers are clumsy as they slip it onto the player and turn it on. She takes a deep breath to steady herself as she raises the arm and lowers it and doesn't breathe out until she hears the stylus scratch against the vinyl. Warm, silky-smooth jazz instantly starts floating around the room, engulfing her like a blanket. It makes her feel safe, protected—comforted—and her breathing comes a little easier because of it.

She drops the towel and rolls her shoulders, loosening the ache of the muscles. Something catches her eye and she glances up to see herself in the mirror, pale and weary-looking, her eyes heavy-set and tired. She can't look away and wonders when she turned into this person.

Is this who she is without her? Is this what she'll be?

She steps closer, curious in a way that she doesn't understand because she knows that what she'll discover will only make things worse. Her fingertips press into the dark bags around her eyes and she realizes she can't remember the last time she slept through the night. She looks gaunt, so exhausted that it would be impossible to deny that there was anything she needed more than a good night's sleep. Her eyes trace over herself in the mirror, trying to figure out if she's lost weight, if her skin fits her bones a little tighter. She doesn't think so. She's pretty sure that if she wasn't eating she would have been sent to the hospital days ago.

She doesn't stop looking until she finds something she doesn't actually expect to see, something that makes her move closer to the mirror to get a better look at herself in the barely-there light.

Her hands aren't really shaking anymore when she reaches up to touch it, the darkest one, there on her neck. It's dark; purple, red and yellow mottling together with the natural tone of her skin to make a brand new color. And it's big too, its shape so obviously made by one mouth and one perfect mouth only. If she looks close enough, she's pretty sure she can see how she'd been smiling when she'd done it, biting and sucking against her neck so perfectly that Santana had bucked into her desperately to gain more friction. She hadn't cared about the fact that Brittany was going to leave a mark where everyone could see; she was more worried about the fact that Brittany was pressed insistently inside of her, her movements slow when she needed them fast.

She's had hickeys before, hidden in places where no one can see and never as rough and possessive as this. No one has ever been as rough and possessive of her as the mouth that left this mark, the same mouth that had been whispering incoherent I-love-yous into her skin as it moved higher.

Curious, Santana strokes back her wet hair. Sure enough, she finds another mark, hidden close to her hair line behind her ear. It's dark, angrier than the first one. She presses her fingers against it, wincing at the pain when she puts pressure against the skin. She looks away from it and turns her head to the other side, looking for more. Her hands graze and press over her skin, almost frantic in their search until she finds another on the other side, elongated and not as dark. It touches the join of her jaw and there's another just beside it, hidden underneath her chin.

She follows them like the worst kind of connect-the-dots game she's ever played, finding marks on her breast bone, her collarbone. There are a couple on her breasts, a couple on the top and another angry one on the curve underneath. She dances her fingers over them, eyes wide and watery as she circles the few that litter her stomach until she finds the ones atop and inside her thighs. They're dark, made with the same breathless desperation she can remember being pressed into the flesh of her back by short, blunt fingernails.

The last mark she finds is on the curve of her knee and it looks so much like the bruises she would get when they were children that she feels something slowly begin to buckle inside of her.

How did all of that back then turn into this? She doesn't understand. She tried _so _hard.

She doesn't understand how a momentary breather lost her everything. She should have been laughing about this with Brittany as Brittany helped her cover up the marks with make up as they got ready to go out to dinner or to Uncle Frank's. Brittany was supposed to understand that she didn't mean _now_, she meant _soon_. She just wanted her to not give up. She didn't want her to think that she was leading her on only to not follow through with everything, but that's somehow exactly what she did.

She turns away from the mirror and towards the dresser, yanking out the first pair of underwear that she can find. She tugs them up her legs, ignoring the twinges of pain she gets as she brushes over the bruises, and concentrates on finding a shirt instead. She finds a white t-shirt on the floor by her dresser and pulls it over her head as she walks over her head and falls down onto it.

Something crinkles beneath her and she sighs knowing what it is, bringing it out from beneath her along with the same gray t-shirt she'd seen sat there mere hours before.

She smooths out the note and folds it without looking at it again before setting it on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Her heart beats like a drum and she takes deep breaths to calm it as she lays the UPenn shirt over her bare legs and looks at it for a second. It's soft and comforting and almost still feels warm against her skin.

She can smell Brittany on it from here and hates herself for wanting to bury her face into it so badly. It wouldn't be the first time, or the second. There have been so many nights after boyfriends were gained and songs were sung that she's cried so hard into it that her tears ended up washing the smell away. She doesn't want that to happen now. She doesn't want it to wear away too quickly. She wants to keep that smell locked inside the cotton for as long as she can... just in case.

She shuffles back and folds it carefully before laying it down on the bed beside her where Brittany should be. It's overwhelming how quickly the scent of Brittany on the sheets hits her and her eyes flutter at it. Something quiet in the back of her brain tells her she should change the sheets because she's only torturing herself but she ignores it. She doesn't want to. She doesn't think she could even manage lifting them from the mattress without wrapping herself entirely inside of them. She just wants to lay here for a while and pretend that none of this happened, that she'll wake up and Brittany will still be there, naked against her.

She pulls the covers over herself and sighs as her hand reaches to press fingertips over the fabric. She tries to remember what the soft skin of Brittany's body felt like beneath it mere hours ago, how much softer it felt against her own fingers. She can already feel the memory starting to fray around the edges, tainted by reality. It makes her face screw up in anguish as the tears threaten to overcome her.

She feels her resolve to stay strong ebbing away as the first whimper leaves her properly, a sob bubbling up with it.

She's glad for the music, for the drapes and the closed windows, her shut door and the quilt that cocoons her. It makes it easier to pretend that no one can hear her sobbing slowly and wholeheartedly to the beat of the music as she thinks of all the mistakes she's made.

It makes it harder to fall asleep, knowing that she she'll wake up and nothing will be different.

/

She's been awake for a few minutes when there's a knock at the door. She ignores it for a moment until she hears the creak of the hinge as the door slowly opens and even then, all she does is bury herself deeper under the covers hoping that whoever it is will leave her alone.

There's only one person she wants to see right now.

But she can feel whoever is standing at the foot of her bed, staring at her. She feels the heat of their gaze, their judgment. She's pretty sure if she thinks hard enough she can hear how hard they're thinking a million different things about her.

She presses her face into the pillow to stop the tears. She doesn't want to cry anymore. She just wants to lay here until she's figured out what else she can do.

She knows there's nothing, but it's nice to pretend sometimes.

"Santana..."

It's the last voice she wants to hear. She's sure of it. It makes her blood run cold and hot at the same time as she thinks of his stupid face, his stupid hands touching things that she wanted to be hers. If she wasn't proud owner of the top spot of the list of people she has to blame for all the shit in her life, he would be instead. Just for last night, for what happened just because he was simply there, she would blame him for all of this if she didn't blame herself so much.

"Get out," she grits out, her voice rough and quickly betraying the tears that have been shed. "Unless you want me to hurt you, get out—"

"Santana, I didn't know..."

"Get out."

"Please, just hear me out."

"Get out."

She hears a pause, a hopeless sigh.

"_Santana_."

"I won't tell you again."

She hears him step closer. "We were just _dancing_," he says. "We were playing computer games and then we were dancing and it just _happened—_"

The words break her a little bit and she's not sure why. She takes a deep, hollow breath in as tears begin to spill down her face. "Please, get out."

"It meant _nothing_. I had no idea—_no idea—_that there was something between you two," he says emphatically. "I mean, I guessed that there probably used to be but I thought it was over. I didn't think. If I'd have known, I swear that I would have backed off. I would never do that to you. I promise."

"Sam," she says, warningly. She wants him to listen to her.

"I just want you to know, Santana," he says quickly. "That's all. I realize that I've made a lot of stupid mistakes the past couple of days and I never meant them to hurt anybody. Most of all you. Not after you did all of this for us. That's why, when Artie told me that we all had to pitch in because he was sending Brittany home, I told him I wouldn't do that." Santana's eyes dart open, her entire body jolting suddenly. "I told him that, even if it was partly my fault, I wouldn't do that. We should have all stayed out of it rather than interfering. I just wanted you to know that."

It takes a moment and it feels like someone's punched her in the gut. When she turns slowly to look at him, how _little_ she wants him to hurt for what he did shocks her a little. She doesn't see anything but a guilty, scared little boy who did something wrong without thinking, trying to make up for it with too much frank honesty.

"What?" she breathes out because things are starting to make sense. Quinn's glances, how Brittany even managed to get the money to take a bus home... all these questions she was too scared to know the answer to suddenly start to feel necessary to understanding what the hell is going on.

He looks at her worried. "I don't..." he starts and there's something in his face that starts to realize things. She sees him panic, his mouth opening and closing as he searches for the words. "I'm just saying that Artie came and told us that Brittany wanted to go home and he wanted us to pitch in but I said no because I thought she should talk to you first..."

Santana shakes her head. "No, no... that's not what you said," she whispers on the verge of angry, confused tears. "You said he was sending her home. What do you mean he was _sending _her home?"

"Santana..."

She purses her lips together and shakes her head pleadingly. "What do you mean he sent her home?"

He stares at her and his face looks so blank that in any other situation she'd think he'd shut down completely. But she can see a flickering in his eyes, a desperation to say the right thing and, after a minute, he gulps and glances away from her, closing his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling.

"I don't want to cause any more trouble," he admits and Santana climbs off the bed, ignoring how she wants to punch him for how pathetic he is in order to grab him by the shirt and pull his face level with her own.

"Tell me," she says and she knows her voice isn't even angry, just desperate. Her eyes water and her cheeks feel so warm that it feels like she's been out in the sun all day. He gulps. "Please, Sam," she whispers, her other hand reaching to steady herself with another handful of his shirt. "You owe me this."

His resolve breaks and he breathes out warm against her face as he shakes his head.

"I went to speak to Brittany this morning. I was scared and I thought that you might kill me, so I suggested that I leave with her. She shot me down and said that I should stay here, that everything would be fine." His voice breaks and her face flinches a little at the words. "I still felt bad, so I went to the pool house and Artie was in there googling how much it would cost for a bus ticket for Britt. I said that I felt bad and he said that I didn't need to worry. That's when he asked me for the money and I said no, because we shouldn't let her go. I know that Quinn agreed with me but Artie said that there was no alternative. Even if she wanted to stay, he was sending her home anyway. He said she was just a distraction and that there were more important things than your dumb drama. I still said no to giving him money and he got mad and left."

The words have barely left his mouth before she's gasping from shock, pulling away from him and bending forward to press her hands on her knees, suddenly panting for breath. She wants to scream and the struggle of suppressing it makes it difficult to breathe as it rises in her throat. Sam presses a hand to her shoulder as she gasps until she's almost laughing in disbelief.

"I don't think he was thinking, Santana..." Sam says softly. "None of us really have been. Things have been so—"

"No," she shakes her head and she stands up straight. "No. There's only one thing he ever does and that's _think_... Think about nobody other than his own damn self!"

"Santana..." he says as she clutches at her chest. "Calm down."

"No," she says, pushing him away and then she's marching out of the door, determined to find answers.

/

It's dark outside and she can see the rain slowly trickling down the windows like tears. She tries the kitchen first, eyes flitting around to look for him as Quinn, Mercedes, Kurt, Rachel and Tina all look back at her from making dinner. She ignores how they all slowly open their mouths to talk to her and backs out of the room. She has more important things to worry about than what they're all saying about her or what they know. It's what _she _doesn't know that she's most worried about and she walks straight through the kitchen and out into the backyard, knowing that the second place he's most likely to be is the pool house.

He isn't.

Puck, Finn, and Mike are sat in there, playing video games and she ignores the sounds of them dying on screen as they stare at her dumbly when she walks in. She just closes the door behind her and heads back across the yard, not caring about the rain as she heads back inside.

She sees him through the French doors of the living room and opens up the one on the far left she knows is always unlocked. It clicks and the wood makes a cracking sound a little as she frantically pulls it back to step inside. She doesn't care about doors. Doors can be replaced. What she cares about is the wide look on Artie's face as Blaine sits straight-backed and intrigued on one of the sofas. What she cares about is Sam trying his hardest to be the good guy as he warns him.

"What did you tell her _that _for?" She hears him say before he notices her. She can't believe the nerve of him.

She can't believe how he can even sit there already looking like he's some sort of victim.

"Tell me thetruth!" she says warningly, skirting around Sam to point her hand in his face. "Tell me the _goddamn _truth, you pathetic little shit!"

His eyes cross as they grow even more impossibly wide. She sees him gulp as she feels the tears prick at her eyes. She's not sad. She's furious. She can tell, just from the look on his face, that he thought he was safe from her finding out this.

"Tell me," she barks. "Tell me or so help me God I won't be held responsible for what I do. I swear to God. Don't test me. Don't _fucking _test me."

He shakes his head from side to side until it looks like it's not even connected to his body anymore. His hands grip at his knees and without even trying to, he leans so far back in his chair that it starts to roll backwards a little. She grabs it and brings it towards her.

He flinches and shakes his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me!" she screams and she's vaguely aware of figures wandering in through doorways from the kitchen, of shadows looming over her from where they enter behind her. "You made her leave. You told Sam that even if she'd have changed her mind, you would have made her leave anyway." His cheeks flush. "Why?" she demands. "Tell me. Tell me _why_ you would do that." He remains quiet and she shakes his chair in frustration until it almost tips back and she's forced to ground it. "Goddamit Artie! WHY?"

"BECAUSE SHE WASN'T MEANT TO BE HERE!"

It jars her back and her face falls a little as his grows madder, redder. She narrows her eyes at him, suddenly confused and waits for him to continue.

"God, Santana!" he breathes out, shoving her away from his chair. "She wasn't even meant to be here. She fucking ran away from her family to come on this stupid trip... which was probably because of your encouragement. I've got no damn doubt about _that_."

There's so much sudden power behind his words that they feel like something he's been wanting to say to her for months. She straightens her back and stares at him with new eyes as she tries to process the new information. Despite everything, it makes startling and terrifying sense.

"She told me that she wasn't even given permission to come on this stupid trip and I looked at her and I did exactly what I knew you would have wanted me to," he says, adamantly. "I told her to leave because we don't need anymore of this stupid drama." He looks at her and she never knew he had it in him to look so angry. "Brittany wasn't meant to be here. Brittany put this trip and everything that comes with it in jeopardy. Her _parents _could have come looking for her and then we all would have been sent home. Then what would we have done?"

He looks at her and she knows he's trying to remind her of something else but all she can think about is how much she wants to slap him out of whatever it is he's fallen into.

He goes on. "We need this trip, Santana," he says lowly, his calm suddenly jarring. "_She _needs this trip. You said that."

She screws up her face and opens her mouth to object but then she remembers all those days—weeks—ago when the smell of vomit clung around them and Artie was so desperate to just call a hospital. Suddenly, she's not sure why she didn't let him.

"Brittany," Artie says softly, eyes hard and demanding, like he's trying to hypnotize her. "Brittany was just a distraction that you didn't need, Santana. Brittany is what's stopping us from figuring this thing out."

She scoffs and her eyes burn with the need to throw something at him. Preferably her fist. "There's nothing to work out, Artie."

"You're just saying that because you're mad," he says, chuckling lightly. The room is heavy with the confusion of the others. She catches sight of Quinn out of the corner of her eye. "You're just saying that because you want to believe that Brittany shouldn't have gone home."

"That's because she _shouldn't _have gone home," she spits and she gasps with the ache in her chest. "She should _never _ have gone home because if you could pull your head out of your ass long enough to stop thinking about something other than yourself, you'd realize that it's been four weeks since Brittany ran away from her parents and came here." She shakes her head, eyes wide. "We're supposed to be leaving on Wednesday, Artie. If they haven't come by now I don't think they're going to come at all."

His face falls. Santana looks at him, disgusted.

"Do you have any idea what you might have done?" she says, her voice catching. "You sent her on a bus across the fucking country by herself, back to parents who don't even understand her half the time. You did that. Anything that happens to her from here on in is your fault." She takes a deep breath. "God, fuck you, Artie. Really? Fuck all of you. Some fucking team y'all are, letting her leave like that." She looks around the room, finding all their faces. "Did any of you even let her say anything other than she wanted to go home? Or did you just listen to this asshole?"

"Oh, screw you, Santana—"

"No!" she shouts. "Screw you. This isn't your house. This isn't your trip. You're a _guest _here. Stop fucking trying to bend everything to your own damn whim so that your life is a little bit easier! If you've got a problem, you fucking leave! Stop sitting there pretending you're helping!"

He scoffs. "Stop playing the tortured fucking hero when all you're doing is sitting there and waiting for all the answers to come to you," he spits spitefully. "Stop pretending like you're the only one trying to fix things!"

"I'm not!" she laughs in disbelief. "But at least I'm not the pathetic little idiot who's making them worse!" She turns away from him only to spring back and shake her head. "God, _what_ is your problem?"

"My problem?" Artie says. "My _problem_?" he repeats incredulously. "My problem is that you were the person who sat there and admitted that there was something obviously wrong with Quinn and then did fuck all to do anything about it! My problem is that you're sat there and you're keeping everything to yourself because you think you're better than everyone else. My problem is that you switch so easily between being my friend and being my worst fucking enemy that I don't which one of you is an actual person! You're kind to me and then you keep shit from me! You wouldn't even fucking tell me that Tina might be pregnant with my damn baby!"

The room lapses into muffled gasps and hushed whispers. She looks away from Artie to look at the others and shakes her head as she sees Quinn sitting against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest as her head shakes from side to side, eyes unfocused. She catches Rachel's subtle shake of the head to Kurt as he whispers "did you know about this?" to her before turning to Mercedes to ask her the same thing. Tina stands a few feet ahead of them, staring across the room at Mike who stares at the ground beside Puck. He looks like he doesn't know whether to cry or yell and does neither a few moments later when he turns around and leaves the room. Tina follows after him quickly and, a few seconds after that, Quinn heads back out to the kitchen without a word.

After a few moments, when no one's said anything and she's just staring between the two sides of the room, Santana turns back to Artie and shakes her head.

"I have good reason," she says softly, breath steadying. "I don't have to tell you anything and I have perfectly good reason too because whenever you open your goddamn mouth you can't seem to stop anything coming out of it."

He goes to open his mouth but she cuts through him.

"You're pathetic," she whispers. "I hope you know that. You play the victim but you're the only person to blame." She kneels down in front of him and shakes her head. "You call me selfish but what have I done that's selfish? What have I _really _done that I could control? If you think that this is easy, having everyone fucking looking at you for direction the whole fucking time, you try it. I'm done, okay?" she shakes her head. "I can't fucking do this anymore."

His eyes widen and he looks terrified, reaching to grip one of her hands that sit on his armrests. "Wait," he whispers frantically. "You're—you're not going to help me with Quinn?"

She slips her hand out from beneath his and taps it gently. "I wasn't helping _you _in the first place," she whispers softly. "And that's my point. This isn't about you. This isn't about getting the girl."

She stands up and shakes her head.

"This is about doing the right thing," she tells him. "And I am so sick of trying to figure out what the hell that is."

/

Part of her just wants to head straight back to her room and sleep until they have to leave but she knows she'll never be able to with the amount of thoughts whirring uncontrollably around her head.

She steps out into the entryway and looks around her, ignores the burst of excited talk that starts from behind her as she leaves the living room. She turns her head to the side as she hears glass clinking together in the kitchen and takes a few worried steps forward to find Quinn.

She steps closer and stands in the doorway watching her, saying nothing. Quinn looks up at her from pouring vodka into a glass and rakes her eyes up her body before avoiding her eyes.

"Nice bruises," she says and it stings a little. She tugs on the bottom of her shirt to pull it lower.

Quinn shakes her head and knocks back the glass, swallowing the vodka without even wincing. "I don't need your damn help, Santana." She shakes her head. "I don't need or want anyone's stupid help."

There's still something nagging at her but Santana nods, her face blank as she lingers in the doorway. "You'll get no arguments from me."

Quinn looks up at her and shakes her head. She almost looks disappointed in her for something.

"Leave me alone, Santana." She sighs.

Santana nods quickly and takes a step back. "Fine."

She doesn't stop taking steps back until she's at the staircase.

/

She pulls on her overalls and searches around in the pockets for her car keys. She needs a cigarette and the five packets that Uncle Frank took from the machine in the bar are still in the car. She searches around for her grandpa's Zippo and finds it on the dresser, slipping it into her pocket so she doesn't have to wait.

She trudges down the stairs, and pulls on her Chucks, forgoing the laces to wander outside to the car.

She slips comfortably into the driver's seat, switching on the overhead light as she reaches over to the glove compartment, putting each packet into her pockets as she finds them until she finally finds the open pack.

She taps one out and pulls it between her lips as her other hand pats at her pockets for the lighter. She flicks it open easily and lets the flame hover in front of her face as the cigarette lights. She puffs on it, softly so the embers burn brighter before she flicks it closed.

The silence is welcome for a moment, another breather to get her bearings as she glances up to the house and watches the silhouettes of her friends as they move around the house. She can imagine them, arguing, crying, loving and hating each other. The sound and sight of it all is so familiar to her now that she doesn't even need to close her eyes to remember it anymore.

All she knows is that she doesn't want to have to listen to that as well as whatever's going to repeat itself over and over again inside of her head until they leave.

Then again, she really doesn't want to listen to that either.

So she gets out of the car and walks around to the trunk, popping it open and rummaging around underneath the pile of blankets there until she hits something hard and cardboard, the clinking of glass sounding as soon as she nudges it. She pulls it towards her and hoists it under her arm, cigarette dangling from her fingers as she closes the trunks and rounds back around to the driver's seat.

She puts the box in the passenger seat and closes the door behind her. She takes out the first bottle her hand touches and shakes her head as she unscrews the cap, taking long mouthfuls. She wants it to hit her fast. She wants it to overtake everything else, just until she can figure out how to handle it.

She drinks until she can barely feel the burn and leans back against the headrest to see if the sudden rush of dizziness might help her fall asleep.

It doesn't and instead she watches the shadows of her so-called friends as they run around her house, wondering if any one of them is wondering where she is, if they've gone to look for her. She wonders if they'd care if she just drove off, if she left. She wonders what she'd do if she was sober enough to try it. She wonders if she's lost enough dignity to try and beg. She wonders if things can get any worse.

She thinks she falls asleep. It feels like she is but she isn't at the same time.

The bottle of rum in her hand is supported in the cup holder of the console and the lights in front of her eyes start to go out. She thinks she could be falling asleep but maybe not. Maybe they're just turning off the lamps.

Her eyes flutter closed and her body goes limp and she stops trying to question it.

She's not sure it really matters.

/

Sunrise wakes her up and she groans, throwing her arm over her eyes as its rays slowly start to warm all around her.

She feels like crap and she looks at the bottle of rum in her hand only to find it empty.

The reminder makes her stomach grumble with the need for food and coffee and a cigarette, and she presses her hand against the ache. She isn't sure if she was ever actually truly asleep. She doesn't remember dreaming.

That feels like something she should have been doing.

She runs her hand over her face and finds it clammy. Her whole body feels clammy, like she needs to throw up.

That might be a good idea. It might make her feel better.

Her legs ache as she lowers them to the gravel of the driveway and her arms feel light and shaky as she leans back to take the box of alcohol into her arms.

The rush of cool morning air makes her feel a little better and she walks slowly as she heads back inside, lighting up a cigarette as she goes and puffing on it steadily.

The house is quiet, just like yesterday morning. The memory makes her breathing waver a little and she hefts the box of alcohol onto the bureau by the door so that she can concentrate on remaining upright. Tears threaten and she takes long, deep breaths to chase them away, struggling as her head pounds with a hangover.

Coffee. She needs coffee.

Coffee will help.

She takes a drag on her cigarette, just to see if that'll help too.

It doesn't, so she rests it on the ashtray in the center of the breakfast table as she moves around to prepare the coffee maker.

The smell of it makes her feel even more nauseous, even when there's a warm cup of it in her hand and she's forcing it down. She drinks it anyway, just for something to do and watches as her second cigarette slowly burns to the filter without her even putting it in her mouth.

"Santana!"

She jumps and tries not to roll her eyes at the person she sees. She cannot handle _him_ right now. She can't handle him and his oblivious joy. Is he anything other than happy? Does he ever stop trying so hard?

She doesn't say anything to him.

"What are you doing up?" Blaine asks kindly. She rubs at her temples at the question and keeps her eyes trained on her cigarette as he walks around the kitchen to grab himself a mug. "Is it okay if I have a cup of this?"

She barely glances at him. "Sure," she whispers. "Whatever."

Santana doesn't know how long it is between the time he asks her and the time he sits down; she's too busy resting her elbows on the table and pressing her fingers to the corners of her eyes to realize when he starts staring at her.

But when she does, she sees his face his changed, removed of all the forced happiness and replaced with the last thing she wants to see: complete pity. It makes her angry. It makes her furious. He doesn't get to judge her for being a human being.

"What?" she barks at him, trying her hardest not to be irritated by his white v-neck t-shirt and his flannel pajama pants with one leg crossed over the other. He rests his coffee cup on his knee and she shakes her head a little as he stares at her curiously like she's some creature in an exhibition.

He gives her a smile. "She'll come around." She ignores him, choosing to believe that if she does, he'll stop. Of course, he doesn't. "You just need to give her some time and she..."

Her fist falls angrily to the table top with a thud, her coffee spilling over a little with the force. "Stop pretending like you know what's going on," she says as kindly as she can. "Just, stop."

"Santana," he says softly and he uncrosses his legs so that he lean forward and put down his cup of coffee and lean closer to her. "It's okay to be scared," he says. "We're all scared but you have to know that you don't have to be. You've got your friends and it's _perfectly_ fine to be this person that you are." He presses his hand over the top of her fist. "If you're brave, she'll come around."

"God!" She yanks her hand from beneath his. "Why don't you just shut your stupid mouth for once?" She says, shaking her head. "Why don't you mind your own business and stop acting like you're God's gift to gay?" He opens his mouth to speak but she shakes her head. "Stop pretending like you have any idea what's going on because of what you think or what you've heard. Stop assuming you know anything because, really, you know fuck all."

"Santana..."

"You realize that, right?" she asks quickly, cutting through him and feeling a little bit more like herself because of it. "You think you have the perfect life and the perfect boyfriend and that everybody loves you but you're _wrong_, you know?" She nods, eyes narrowed. "You're _this _close to losing Kurt," she says pinching her fingers together. "and you don't even see it. You don't even see how little you deserve him."

He narrows his eyes at that and shakes his head. "Excuse me?" he says, his overgrown eyebrows joining together.

"You have no idea what it's like to really love somebody," she says darkly. "You don't even know what it's like to be terrified. If you're not terrified then you're not doing it right because you haven't even noticed that there's a boy back home who would literally die to have the things you have... to love Kurt."

His face falls and it fills her with something that she can't name. It feels like satisfaction but at the same time it isn't. It burns more.

"There's a boy and he's made his mistakes, he's lost his chances, but he would still do _anything_ to have what you don't even realize you're lucky to have." She shakes her head. "You're just sitting there. You're literally just sitting there doing nothing and everyone thinks you're wonderful. You can't even respect your boyfriend but everyone thinks the sun shines out of your ass." She bites back the need to cry. "So don't pretend you have any idea what this is like, that you have any authority to comment on what _I _should do. You don't have _any _right at all."

He looks straight at her but he isn't really looking at her at all. It's like he's looking through her.

He coughs after a moment. "I..."

"...don't give a shit what you have to say?" Santana says and then she nods. "That's right. So leave me the hell alone."

/

There's a bottle of whiskey and tequila on the bed beside her but she hasn't opened them yet.

Her head's surprisingly clear, considering.

It's strange... not having to worry about everything.

She's not entirely sure she understands it.

"Santana?" someone whispers and she blinks because she hadn't even heard the door knock.

She glances towards the door and finds Rachel standing there, clutching a tray close to her body. Santana glances away from her to the sound of the others as they shriek and shout from downstairs. She doesn't even know why she's surprised.

"I know it's a little early—it's only five o'clock—but I made some dinner," she explains quickly. "I mostly did it because everybody found that box of alcohol that I assume you left on the bureau and they're making pretty quick work of it." She glances at the bottle of whiskey and tequila on the bed as she steps closer. "I guess you are too and that's why I thought you could use something to line your stomach." She steps closer and puts the tray on the floor beside her bed. "I made pasta and homemade garlic bread... and I made you a cup of coffee too because you looked tired but not really sleepy when I saw you earlier."

Santana looks at her but she doesn't say anything, just looks at her and searches for the pity she expects to be there. Rachel just looks at her softly, hands wringing themselves together against her stomach, expectantly.

"Am I missing much?" she asks once she's decided that Rachel's not going to try and talk to her about the obvious.

Rachel brightens at the question and steps closer to the bed, bending to perch against the seat at the foot of the bed. "Tina and Mike broke up, I think," she says carefully. "I think her plan was to not tell anyone else, especially after Mercedes and I made her take a pregnancy test and it came back negative."

Santana's eyes widen. "What?"

Rachel nods. "Yeah, we caught her looking at it yesterday morning while you were gone and we made her take it. She was really scared but we didn't know it was because she thought Artie could be the father. It came up negative and I think she told Mike but, now everyone knows, I don't think it really matters to him whether she's pregnant or not." She shrugs. "I think everyone finding out made him feel like a fool."

Santana nods because she understands that feeling. Why else would she be cooped up in this room?

"Makes sense," she whispers and Rachel nods.

"Kurt and Blaine have made virginity loss plans for tonight for some reasons," she continues after a moment. "I don't think they want anyone to know but I know you won't tell anyone."

Santana laughs and shakes her head because, really? He really thinks that's going to solve everything?

"I only know because Blaine told Finn," she says, rolling her eyes. "He thought it'd be a great moment to ask me if I was up for doing the same thing." Santana laughs. "I told him no, of course."

"Good," Santana breathes and then the room lapses into silence, breeze blowing in gently through the window as Santana debates asking the next question. She said that she was done but, still. Old habits die really hard. "And Quinn?"

Rachel nods like she was expecting that and takes a deep breath, pausing before answering. "She seems to be... taking full advantage of the new alcohol stash. Artie keeps chasing after her begging her to stop and Puck keeps telling him to leave her alone. It's..." she pauses. "I think your method was better and is less liable to get Artie a black eye."

It fills Santana with dread and she shakes her head. She can't find any words she wants to say, she just wants to cry, and Rachel seems to understand that.

She presses a hand to Santana's bare foot and rubs it gently for a moment.

"You should eat your dinner," she nods kindly, standing up and leaving.

Santana picks up the bottle of tequila instead.

/

She's finished the tequila by the time the screaming from downstairs gets louder. She can hear them now, Artie begging Quinn and Puck yelling at him to leave her alone. She can hear noises from the floor below her that she really doesn't want to think about, muted moans that break after a few moments like someone's working themselves up to move onto the next step. She can hear Rachel telling Finn no, telling him that if he really thinks she's going to give him her virginity when he's acting like this he's crazy and more of an ass than she thought he was. She can hear Mercedes getting involved too, telling him that he needs to go lay his ass down before she makes him.

Santana opens up the bottle of whiskey as she briefly wonders where Sam is. She can almost imagine him, sat alone in the pool house playing video games.

She wonders if he'd let her join him.

That thought is forgotten when she tips the whiskey to her nose, only to smell apple juice. She rolls her eyes and puts the cap back on it, swinging her legs over the side of the bed as the shouting gets louder, as Artie sounds like he's almost in tears he's begging so loud.

She can't stay here without something to numb the noises.

She decides to go check if there's any more tequila in the house before she decides anything else. Her legs are shaky as she wanders down the stairs, past the moans of Kurt and Blaine, past the screaming in the living room and the kitchen and to the box that still sits on the bureau.

It's empty and she rolls her eyes like she expected nothing less. Maybe she can swap her bottle of apple juice for something.

"Is there any tequila left?" she asks as she wanders into the kitchen. Rachel looks up at her, Mercedes too.

"I think most of the bottles had been refilled with something," Mercedes slurs. "We only had a couple bottles of gin and a bottle of whiskey and some vodka and I think it's all gone."

She rolls her eyes and turns around, searching for another source. A shout from the living room, of Puck yet again telling Artie to back up off of Quinn, stops her. Something in her brain clicks and she's striding across the house and back up the stairs again, before she can even realize what she's doing.

Once she does, she quickly reasons that this is her house. These are her rooms and control of them has been given to them while they're here. She has every right to go through them. She has every right to be pushing the door to Quinn's room open and looking around.

It's a lot tidier than she thought it would be.

It makes her worried that she's heading straight for the drawers of the vanity, wondering if Quinn will know from the disorganization. The thought leaves her quickly when there's nothing inside. She checks the closet instead, her hands checking the top shelf and just finding some more of her grandma's boxes of crap. It takes a little of the effort from her and she's kinda ready to just give up and take a walk to Uncle Frank's to see if she can crash there. She lazily looks through the drawers of the dresser, starting at the bottom and running her hands underneath and against Quinn's clothing. She moves higher, hands getting less thorough as she approaches the top shelves and pauses when she gets to the top one, filled with Quinn's underwear.

It takes her a moment to realize she doesn't give a crap about Quinn's underwear or where it's been. She just delves her hands into it and moves them around, desperate to hit glass.

She does, of course.

She hits glass, but she hits paper too and the joy of finding the small handle of rum is quickly taken away from her as she presses against the paper and realizes what she's touching.

As her face falls, she's suddenly filled with overwhelming pain and betrayal instead. Her hands start to shake from the sudden rush of rage and, despite all of these new feelings, she takes her hand from the drawer and concentrates on the rum instead, taking long mouthfuls from it until she feels herself calm. She can't... She can't believe this.

She shakes her head with that disbelief, this sudden refusal to believe that Quinn would do this. Despite all the suspicions she had that it was her, she didn't actually think that it was _her_.

She doesn't think she can take the people she loves most hurting her like this anymore. She's not sure where her ability to trust the right people has gone.

She laughs bitterly because, no... no... it's just an envelope. It's probably nothing. No. It's definitely nothing. It's not anything. She should just turn around and take her rum and get the hell out of here.

Except, despite how much she says she doesn't give a shit anymore, she gives more of a shit than ever.

She throws the rum down on the dresser with purpose and pulls the drawer out even more, throwing Quinn's underwear onto the floor as she buries under it all—clean and fresh from their laundry trip—in order to find what she's so desperate not to find.

The first thing she notices, once the drawer is empty enough that she can see that familiar, brown-orange color of an envelope, is that it's considerably less bulky than it should be if it's what she doesn't want it to be. She tugs on it to shift it from where it's lodged against the corner of the drawer, almost unmoving. She tugs until she's almost sure that she's going to tear it, until she feels it start to give against her fingers, and then it moves. It crumbles in her hands, the plastic lining inside rustling as she pulls it closer to her, the lighter and papers slipping from the folded crease as she opens it.

She lets them fall into her palm as she holds it all outstretched in front of her, like it'll burn if it comes close to her.

It's a ticking time bomb, like Quinn, and she feels like she's been waiting for this moment forever and at the same she suddenly isn't ready for it at all. Her breathing heaves from her as she lets her shaking hands pry it open, her head shaking adamantly as she forces herself to.

She peers inside and, with a bitter laugh, feels another foundation of her life begin to crack beneath her.

/

She clutches the envelope to her chest as she walks downstairs, as calmly as she can because if she doesn't she'll lose it before she's even given her a chance to explain.

They're all still arguing and she bites her lip against the tears that roll down her cheeks, wiping them away as she checks her bearings at the bottom of the stairs, trying to listen to where she is before she wastes her energy there, walking.

Turns out, she doesn't have to walk anywhere because as soon as she stops, Quinn steps out of the kitchen, Artie at her heels and Puck following him.

She skids to a halt when she sees Santana standing there, clutching the envelope. Her eyes go wide and she takes a tentative look around at Artie and Puck before stepping closer.

"Santana..."

Santana shoves the envelope at her as soon as she's close enough, shoving it hard until Quinn stumbles back enough that Puck has to catch her.

Quinn drops the envelope to the floor. A litter of green falls from it and Santana looks at it bitterly before throwing the lighter and the papers at it. She meant it when she said she couldn't give a shit about it.

"You went through my room?" Quinn asks dumbly, working through a haze of alcohol that doesn't seem to be as thick as usual. She shakes her head like she did the night before, full of shock and disappointment. "You went through my _fucking _room?"

Santana sniffs and runs her lips against each other. "You're a fucking piece of work, you know that?" She wipes her cuff over her face and shakes her head. The need to punch someone has been building up for about four weeks now and she's sick of holding it in. She's so fucking sick of holding _every little fucking piece _of herself inside. She's done with it. "You're a disrespectful, hypocritical, fucked-up waste of space."

Quinn actually has the guts to look offended. Her eyes go big and her mouth drops open in a gasp and she looks around to Artie and Puck who have suddenly stopped completely after hours of screaming.

"Is this all this was to you, hmm?" Santana asks. "You come on this trip and you pretend like you're not like everyone else in this fucking group, that you're not on a never-ending journey to fuck me over, so that you can live out whatever this shit you're working through is. That's even if it is real shit because God knows you're enough of a bitch to actually fake all this so everything's about you. Everything always has to be about Quinn fucking Fabray."

"You don't know shit, Santana."

"Awww, look at me, I'm Quinn Fabray," Santana says, ignoring her, fake over-joyed and turning to the others as they slowly make their way out into the kitchen. "I used to be fat and everybody hated me, so I made my daddy let me move schools once I was skinny and then I made all the boys fall in love with me just so I could fuck them over. Then I got pregnant and broke all their hearts again and then I gave up my baby because I've got no concept of responsibility. I blame everybody else for everything I do because I'm Quinn fucking Fabray and nobody loves me!"

Quinn's remains stoic, her eyes wide and bright with tears. Shock paints her features and she doesn't dare look around her.

"God, when are you going to give up feeling so sorry for yourself, stop drinking and smoking away your problems and grow up? You were meant to be my best friend," Santana tells her, quickly. "I fucking trusted you and you betrayed me. I don't know how you look at yourself in the mirror, you ungrateful, attention-seeking cunt. No wonder nobody loves you..."

Her voice trails off as she realizes she's over-stepped the mark, a hand slapping over her mouth as her eyes grow wide. She shakes her head, stepping forward as the regret hits her square in the chest.

"Santana..." Puck mutters as she tries to reach out to Quinn. Quinn looks at her like she's a different person, like she's a monster, her disappointment so evident that it makes something in Santana feel like there's something in her chest, squeezing her lungs so that she can't breathe.

"Quinn..." she whispers, trying to step closer to her. "Quinn, I didn't..."

Quinn shakes her off. "You don't know anything, Santana," she whispers as she slips around her and up the stairs. "You don't. You really fucking don't."

They all stare at her again and none of them look like they know what to say as they take in Santana standing there and the weed littered around her feet. Artie's staring at her and she looks at the floor, eyes blinking because she's not actually sure what happened, she doesn't even know where half of that came from. She opens her mouth to explain but when a cacophony of sound erupts from upstairs, it doesn't matter anymore.

All the energy that she conserved walking down the stairs is wasted as she runs up them, past underwear-clad Kurt and Blaine with Puck, Sam and Rachel hot on her heels. She can hear Artie screaming at Finn to help him get up there from below and as fast as everything's going, it feels like everything's happening in slow motion. She can't get to Quinn fast enough.

And when she skids to a halt outside of Quinn's room, she begins to panic as she hears the smashes and the snapping of wood. Her grandma is gonna be so fucking pissed but she doesn't care when she rattles the door handle and finds it locked.

"Quinn, open the door!" she screams. "Open the damn door!" she shouts as she kicks against it, hoping it's just jammed.

But it doesn't move and the noises inside the room get louder, more smashes mixed in with hopeless sobs and she can't just sit here and wait. She doesn't give a fuck about what her grandmother might say if she finds out they destroyed a house she has to rent to a family reunion from Milwaukee in four weeks.

She turns to Puck.

"Open it," she tells them breathlessly, moving out the way. "Break it down!"

She doesn't have to ask Puck twice. There's a reason he's on the football team and that's not because he's got good game. He steps back and runs at the door as fast as he can until the old door cracks and gives way, falling to the ground.

Her heart palpitates in her chest and she pushes past Puck to get into the room. It's a mess, the dresser knocked over, the drawers of it turned into firewood. The window in the corner is cracked and as she steps into the room it quivers like it's threatening to shatter. Quinn's clothes are everywhere and the mirror in the corner that once sat on the vanity now sits in a pile of cracked glass. Santana's stomach lurches when she sees the streaks of blood mixed in with it, red and dark and full of too much life.

She follows the tracks of it all the way to the bathroom, its door covered in bloody hand prints as she pushes it open as gently as she can so as not to startle her. Puck follows behind her and she can hear Artie causing a commotion behind them, Sam telling him to wait from where he stands a few steps away from Puck, Rachel saying she'll check for him, he just needs to calm down.

The glass of the mirror cracks underneath her shoes and she follows the trail of blood that runs through it until she gets to its source, standing hopelessly amongst the destruction.

"Quinn," she says softly, reaching out for her. She can see she's bleeding badly, the mirror in the bathroom punched and cracked too. Pieces of it litter the floor and she can see how Quinn's feet have trekked through it, cutting them up and smudging footprints through it. But worst are the cuts that cover her hands and forearms, dripping out blood onto the floor and onto her clothes. Her face is full of so much anguish and pain that it scares Santana. She edges towards her slowly, her hand stretched out shaking, hoping that Quinn will take it.

She doesn't. She swats towards it, making sure Santana doesn't come any closer.

"Don't touch me!" she says adamantly, and her breath heaves out of her like she's having an asthma attack, gasping and sobbing with the need for it as Santana stands there, useless. "Don't touch me! I don't need your help!"

Santana nods and shakes her head. "I know, I know you don't, Quinn."

Quinn sobs and Santana doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know whether to call her dad or the hospital or something else, so she just stands there, her feet shuffling in the glass gently in case she has to spring to catch Quinn as she falls.

"Why don't you go fix your own fucking problems before you try to fix everyone else's!" She says and Santana can't find it in her to care about the sting that she isn't even really able to feel through the worry.

She can hear voices and phones ringing but all she can concentrate on is Quinn. She nods in understanding and checks behind her to see if Puck's still there. He's out of sight, obviously not wanting to spook her and gives her a look that asks _are you sure you can handle this?_ before she nods softly and turns back to Quinn.

"You're the girl who had everything and threw it away because she was too fucking scared to be honest!" Quinn shouts. "You're the girl one who had the fucking girl, who wanted you more than I've ever seen anyone want anyone and threw her away! You're the one who wastes everything! You could have chased her! You _should _have chased her. You could have done something to stop her, to show her that she fucking mattered, Santana!" She shakes her head. "Just because you don't think you can love her properly doesn't mean you shouldn't," she gasps. "You know, you've always known—deep down—that there's no one who can love her better than you. Just—just because someone said they can love her better doesn't mean it's true! No one can love her as much as you can, as you're meant to..."

She trails off and Santana can feel her heartbeat increase as she watches something register in Quinn's eyes, something broken and fresh like her wounds and the blood that drips from them just like her tears.

"No one told you that it was okay to be scared," Quinn whispers. "No one told you you were allowed to be and you were so lonely..." Santana breathes out unevenly and drops her hand. Quinn falls back against the tile wall and her knees buckle a little. She stares at her hands in front of her.

Santana takes a tentative step forward. "Quinn..." she whispers but Quinn ignores her.

"I was so scared," she whispers to herself. "Terrified, even..." She shakes her head. "I didn't think I could do it. I thought that even if I tried I'd mess it up anyway, you know?"

Her face screws up and she gasps out a sob. Santana covers her hand over her mouth at the sight of her, not sure if she wants to burst into tears herself. It should never have come this far. Never. How the fuck did nobody notice before this? She falls to her knees in front of her, glad for her overalls covering her knees from the glass.

Her hands reach for her and she shakes her head, needing direction.

"Quinn..." she whispers and it catches her attention at last. She slowly looks up at Santana, her face covered in tears as she holds her arms out in front of her like she's asking for forgiveness. Santana offers her own hands out in response, willing to take the burden.

Quinn's mouth opens and her eyes are wide. She looks at Santana like she's just realized something she should have done a long time ago. Tears stream down her cheeks and Santana smiles comfortingly at her as she gathers up the strength to speak.

"I miss..." she starts off slowly and then she shakes her head like it's obvious. "I miss my baby girl."

Her shoulders start to shake the minute she's said it, her hands quaking completely, movements increasing with each second as Santana hears Quinn's breathing start to go uneven, her vision going dazed. Santana knows what's happening the second she sees it and doesn't think twice as she maneuvers Quinn's body so that she can sit beside her. She forces one leg around her back and the other so that her legs hook over one of Santana's thighs. Santana brings herself as close as possible to her as quickly as she can until she can smell rum and vodka and Quinn's pretty pink perfume. She buries her face in Quinn's neck and squeezes her as hard as she can against the shock.

"I know," she whispers softly. "I know you do."

/

It takes a while for her to calm down. She makes Puck toss her one of Quinn's sweaters and wraps it around her shoulders to keep her warm, grabs the towels from the counter and wraps them around Quinn's arms to stem the blood flow. All the while, she refuses to take the pressure of her body away from Quinn's, too aware that she's still shaking like she's got hypothermia.

"I need to see her!" she hears all of a sudden, breaking through the whispered words from outside the bathroom. She hears the sound of wheels over broken glass and feels Quinn burying her face into her neck. She's suddenly glad her back is obstructing his view and that Puck is sat in the doorway. She gives Puck a look that he understands as _don't move _and then Artie's there in his chair, Rachel hovering behind him calling his name. "Is she okay? What happened? Quinn?"

Puck looks at her and she nods.

"Take everyone downstairs," she says when she feels Quinn shake her head against her. She runs her hand down the back of Quinn's head and hushes her, keeping her hand on the towels for pressure.

"No," Artie says, shaking his head. "Just tell me she's okay," he begs as Puck starts to wheel him back out of the room.

"She's okay, bro," he says, even though it's nowhere near true.

Santana turns around again when she feels a shadow still stood there. Rachel's stood there, face pale and worried. Her mouth opens and closes to say something and Santana gets it. She smiles kindly and holds Quinn a little closer.

"There's a first aid kit," she says softly. "In the kitchen, under the sink." Rachel nods. "Can you get it for me, please?"

She leaves quickly and it's quiet then, just the two of them. Santana looks around them and takes deep breaths, if only to encourage Quinn to copy her. "You look pretty cut up," she whispers softly, for something to say.

Quinn lifts her head and takes a breath. "I punched it," she explains. "I didn't think it would break. I didn't think I was strong enough."

Santana shakes her head in refusal. "That's ridiculous," she says. "You're one of the strongest people I know."

"Am I?"

Santana nods. "Yes." She pauses. "I should never have said any of those things. I was cruel. I'm sorry."

Quinn shakes her head. "It doesn't matter," she whispers. "I betrayed you when I should have just told you how I felt. I should have trusted you to help me."

Santana sighs. "We should have noticed anyway."

They lapse into silence. Rachel brings the first aid kid and Santana finds some bandages and ties them around the towels, too scared to remove them. She just tightens the bandages until Quinn hisses and ties them off.

"Santana," Quinn says softly, once they're sat there, cuddled in the silence. "Why do you think no one will love me?"

Santana pauses, struck by the question. She doesn't know how to answer and then the answer hits her so hard she has to take a deep, tear-stopping breath. "People do love you, Quinn," she says. "I know I do..." Quinn pulls back and Santana rolls her eyes. "Not like that and I know that it's not the way you mean but... people love you, Quinn. You're my best friend and that's why I love you."

Quinn pauses and then she snuggles deeper into Santana. "Thank you," she whispers.

Santana shakes her head. "You're welcome."

/

She can feel Quinn getting sleepy in her arms and doesn't know whether to wake her up so she can take her to the hospital or wait until she's asleep so she doesn't fight. She's too busy thinking about it that she barely hears Quinn mumble something under her breath.

"What was that?" she whispers.

Quinn sighs and shifts. "I really wish I could have been her mom."

Santana presses a kiss to her forehead. She shakes her head. "You'll get another chance," she promises. "One day, you're going to be the best mom anyone's ever seen."

"You believe that?"

Santana laughs. "I know it."

/

She dozing off herself when Rachel knocks on the door. It jolts Quinn and Santana looks around at her, seeing she's carrying the phone from her grandpa's office. "Rachel?"

"There's a woman on the phone," Rachel explains. "We tried to tell her that you were tied up but she insisted. She said it was an emergency and that she wouldn't stop calling until she'd spoken to you. What do you want me to do?"

Santana narrows her eyes and holds her hand out for the phone. Rachel tiptoes over the glass to hand it to her and stands nearby as Santana presses it to her ear.

"Hello?" she whispers so she doesn't disturb Quinn.

"_Santana Lopez?_" and older female voice asks down the phone. "_Am I speaking to Santana Lopez now_?"

Santana clears her throat. "Yes, this is Santana Lopez."

"_I'm from the University of Miami Hospital_," the woman says instantly. "_It's about your grandmother, Elena González García de Lopez. She's asking for you._"


	14. Part 11a

**This chapter was split into four parts on livejournal and, for the sake of length, I'm gonna split it into 2 parts on here to make it easier going.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Santana Lopez?<em>" an older female voice asks down the phone. "_Am I speaking to Santana Lopez now_?"

Santana clears her throat. "Yes, this is Santana Lopez."

"_I'm from the University of Miami Hospital_," the woman says instantly. "_It's about your grandmother, Elena González García de Lopez. She's asking for you._"

Her eyes narrow and she shifts Quinn's body in her arms to clutch the phone closer to her ear. "I'm sorry," she says, sure she must have heard the woman wrong because of the quiet volume. Her grandma was always knocking the volume button and forgetting to turn it back up. "Can you repeat that, please?"

"_My name is Debbie Stanley_," the woman says instead and Santana finds herself nodding a little, curious. "_I'm a nurse at the University of Miami Hospital. I'm calling about your grandmother, Elena?_"

Santana gulps, her throat dry. "Okay..." she mumbles.

"_She's at the hospital and she's asking for you_," she goes on, raising her voice. Santana gets the feeling that she spends a lot of time on the phone calling people like this. "_Shall I tell her you're on your way?_"

Santana shakes herself out of it a little. "Uh, I'm in Key West," she explains dumbly. "Wait. Can you tell me why she's in the hospital first, please? Can I talk to her?"

"_She's with the doctors._" The line crackles, a whirlwind of frantic sounds and voices filling Santana's ears almost as quickly as her chest fills with terror. "_They don't know what's wrong yet but she wants you here,_" the woman repeats. "_Can you get here soon?_"

"Yeah. Sure," she nods, a million things rushing around her head.

She's exhausted and her hangover is already present behind her eyelids, even after just a few minutes of sleep. She's glad when the woman asks her to hold a second and turns around to find Rachel, before lifting her hand to gesture that she needs a pen. Rachel jumps at the request and frantically looks around for one, not knowing where to start. Santana's pretty sure this is only the second time she's been up on the top floor and she rolls her eyes until Rachel returns a second later with a pen and notepad.

She pauses when she sees _post-partum depression symptoms _written at the top in her own handwriting and stares before hastily scribbling it out as the woman returns to the line. Santana clicks the pen and shifts Quinn again so that she can rest the notepad on the floor.

"_Sorry, Ms. Lopez,_" the woman says kindly. "_I was just trying to find out where you'd need to go once you got here but they're moving her so I don't have that information yet. Do you have a cell_?" Santana reels it off from memory. "_Excellent. I'll call you once I know where they're taking her but, if not, you can find me at the emergency room reception and I'll let you know where you need to go._"

"Thank you," Santana manages to say before the line clicks and the woman's gone. She blinks at it for a second and feels like she knows less now that she's come off the phone than when she answered it. Rachel takes it from her with an offering hand and Santana frowns, not sure what the hell is going on.

"Are you alright?" Rachel asks quietly.

Santana resumes her hold around Quinn, automatically pulling her closer now that she has both arms. She nods, blinking sleepily. "It's... my grandmother," she starts. "She's in the hospital and I have to go be with her. She wants me there."

Rachel looks at her, expression pulling like it isn't sure what it's meant to be doing. "What are you going to do?" she finally asks.

Santana just ignores her for a moment and stares at the words _emergency room_ and _debbie somebody_ written on the notepad. She sits in silence, not sure what she should do, given the circumstances, and rests her chin against Quinn's shoulder, just because. She thinks and tries to decide what her best option is before she turns to Rachel.

"I think you better go make some coffee."

/

She wakes Quinn up ten minutes later once Rachel's returned, soothing Quinn when she starts from her sleep and stares around at them blearily.

Santana sees all the emotions overtake her face in a split second: the confusion, the panic, the shame, and then how quickly those are forgotten when she remembers all the pain.

For the moment, Santana's worried about the physical pain and she knows that she needs to change the bandages around Quinn's arms before they go anywhere. She needs to get them elevated in case they're still bleeding. But first, she needs to explain.

"We gotta go to the hospital," she whispers so only Quinn can hear. She feels Quinn shift against her but she holds her tight. "We gotta go to the hospital but not for you, for my abuela, okay?" Quinn looks around at her, tired and confused. "She's in the hospital in Miami and I want you to come with me—"

"Do you think that's a good idea?" she hears from Rachel behind her. She turns slowly and glares at her. Rachel retreats.

"I want you to come with me because one: I don't want to leave you on your own for a while. Two: Because I think a break to Miami would do you some good." It occurs to her that that isn't just true for Quinn. Still, she goes on, "Three: Because you're the only one here my abuela actually knows and four: your arms will fix better if you've got some over-paid plastic surgeon looking after you. Okay?"

Quinn sighs but she nods.

"Okay," Santana nods, mirroring her. "But first I need to change your bandages and see what the damage is. You're still bleeding a little and, I'm not trying to be a bitch, but I don't want your blood all over my car." Quinn smiles and she's glad to see it. She turns to Rachel. "Bring that stool over here."

She does and then she helps as Santana struggles to get Quinn to her feet without the use of her arms. Rachel hooks both her arms underneath Quinn's and holds her up as Santana makes a space on the marble counter of the sink, moving Quinn's things out the way. Quinn's body is heavy and sluggish as the pair of them lift her onto the counter, leaning her back against the now bare wall.

"You feeling okay?" she asks breathlessly as she reaches down into the oversized first aid kit on the floor.

The good thing about having doctors for your parents and grandfather, and a nurse for your grandmother, is that there never seems to be any shortage of medical supplies. It always sucked when she needed a band aid though. She never got the cool ones from cartoons.

That doesn't matter so much now. This situation calls for more than a band aid.

"Berry," she says quietly, so as not to alert Quinn. "Can you go get some juice and cookies?"

Rachel nods, scampering away and leaving them alone in the room. Santana removes the few small remnants of glass mirror left behind in the sink before rinsing it with warm water and putting in the stopper ready. She ruffles in the huge first aid kit to find some disinfectant before putting it on the counter. The cotton balls are in the cupboard below the sink and she litters some out onto the clean counter ready for when she'll need them.

"Are you gonna put on some of the damn latex gloves next?" Quinn mumbles from the counter.

Santana looks up at her and smirks sheepishly, before pulling some out of the kit.

"I don't want your blood all over me." She says and pulls them up over her hands as Quinn starts laughing, her shoulders shaking. "Shut up," she says nudging her knee. "I need to hurry and your feet are all cut up too."

Quinn calms herself. "Sorry, Doctor Lopez."

It makes Santana roll her eyes, even as she feels a jolt of something in her stomach.

She slowly unbinds the bandages from around Quinn's wrists and tosses them aside into the trashcan which somehow managed to stay the only upright thing in the carnage around it. The towels come next and Quinn hisses as they stick to her skin, her fingers flexing as they're freed from the fabric around them.

"So, you can move all your fingers alright?" Santana asks as soon as she sees the movement and holds her palms out flat so that Quinn can rest her hands against them. Quinn flexes her fingers a little, enough that Santana knows there's probably no real lasting damage. She peers at Quinn's forearms instead, but mostly at the thick laceration along the length of her right one. She clicks her tongue at the way it still oozes blood and how she can see the yellow of the muscle in the space where the skin begins to part. It's already started pulling together but she knows it won't stay that way without help. She rummages through first aid kit again and finds the bottle of what she needs as well as a small unopened box.

"What are those?" Quinn says.

Santana looks up at her. "Saline solution. It'll clean the blood away and then I'm going to put those weird paper stitches things on it until we get to the hospital."

Quinn winces but nods as Santana puts a fresh towel over her legs and begins pouring the liquid over it. Quinn hisses and tries to pull her arm back but Santana holds fast until her it's clean of blood. She wipes it with dressing and then pulls back with a proud smirk.

"Looks good," she comments. Quinn looks ready to punch her.

/

About half an hour later, Rachel finally appears carrying a tray of cookies and drinks. Santana turns to her from her place wrapping bandages around Quinn's other arm and shakes her head.

"Took your time," she comments around a laugh. "Did you have to make the damn cookies?" Rachel looks at her a little hurt. Santana's smile grows. "You didn't seriously make the cookies."

"Finn and Sam ate the last box yesterday and all we had was cookie dough!" Rachel says, voice growing in pitch. "I thought it was of medical importance."

"It is," Quinn says lazily. "Those smell really good."

Santana laughs and shakes her head before putting Quinn's worse arm in a support across her body and tying it around her arm. The minute she backs away, Rachel offers her the plate before moving around to set the tray on the windowsill. She returns to them a second later with a glass of juice for Quinn and a cup of coffee for Santana.

Both she and Rachel watch as half the cookie falls into Quinn's lap, barely none of it making it into her mouth. It makes something ache in Santana's chest and she hates that she's not entirely sure what she's meant to do. She breathes out in relief when Rachel seems to notice her discomfort and moves to wipe the crumbs away quietly, tossing them onto the floor with the rest of the rubble. There's something that goes unspoken between the three of them as Rachel offers Quinn the juice and then helps her guide it to her lips with hands that can't seem to grip it tightly enough. Santana feels useless and integral at the same time.

"Thanks," Quinn whispers and Santana looks down, noticing how her hand is rubbing at Quinn's bare and unharmed ankle. It catches her attention and Santana squeezes a little harder, glad for the look that Quinn gives her, like she gets it. "What's the plan, doc?" she asks.

Santana's glad for the reprieve, the reminder that there are things she _can_ do and she leans over to the first aid kit until she finds more bandages.

"This is a really large first aid kit," Rachel comments as she stands close by. Santana glances up at her but doesn't say anything, just gets to disinfecting the scratches on Quinn's feet and removing any small shards of glass she can see embedded in the skin.

Quinn winces but smiles. "Santana's parents are doctors and her grandfather was a doctor, too," she explains on her behalf.

Santana rolls her eyes because the moment reminds her of the first day of high school when she met Quinn and how impressed she'd been by her. She remembers how she thought the only things she had to offer were Brittany being her best friend and the fact that half her family were doctors. She remembers how little Quinn had been impressed by that, but how bitching out someone who called Brittany slow had made Quinn raise her eyebrows in surprise.

Quinn doesn't seem to notice the sudden slowing of Santana's hands at the memory and goes on. "Her grandmother is a nurse, too."

Rachel hums. "Wow," she says. "And you're going to be a doctor, too? Impressive family."

Any response that Santana could think to say gets lodged in her throat, her hands slowing in their actions. She's not sure if anything she says would be entirely true, so she remains silent and quietly cleans the cuts, rubbing Quinn's ankle between each flinch and hiss to soothe her.

"You'll be a great doctor, Santana," Rachel comments idly as she watches her work quietly, precise in her movements. "A great doctor."

Santana still doesn't respond. She doesn't know how to speak the words she really wants to say.

/

She's carrying the trashcan filled with bloodied towels and bandages when he approaches her. She watches his eyes widen out of the focused way they'd been a moment ago as he catches sight of them.

"Is that all from Quinn?" he says and she notices how his breathing becomes uneven.

She glances at him, unable to shake her disappointment at him. She knows that things would have been better if they'd continued her way. Quinn probably wouldn't be bleeding. But she can't deny the nagging sensation of knowing that Quinn could have gone on for months like she had been if Santana had kept it all to herself. In a sick way, she's kind of grateful for Artie's idiocy.

She breathes out her anger before she speaks, pushing all her other reasons to be mad at him away, unable to deal with them right now.

"Calm down," she says, looking at him pointedly. "She's fine."

Artie doesn't hear her. "All that blood..." he mumbles.

Santana puts the trashcan behind her back. "She's _fine_,Artie," she intones. " It's not as much as you think it is. I'm taking her with me to the hospital to see my grandmother. She'll get the best care Miami has to offer so you don't need to worry."

"I'm coming with you," he says, back straightening in his chair.

Santana shakes her head and raises her brow. "No."

He nods, defiantly, leaning forward and reaching for the trashcan. "Yes," he says, grabbing for it. She childishly lifts it above her head. "Santana, I want to be there for her. I want to help."

Santana pushes him back a little, a hand pressed gently to his chest. She wants to be harsh but she bites it back for the sake of progress."Artie, you're no good for her right now."

He scoffs and wheels away from her. "Are you serious?" he says. "How can you say that?"

"Because it's _true_, Artie," she breathes out and then huffs. She sets the trashcan down on the floor before leaning down to level with him and speak in a low, calm voice. "You're no good for her right now," she shrugs, rubbing her forehead with the back of her wrist. "You're all over the place. Not a few hours ago you were chasing after her, Artie. Don't you see that you're in this for more than just to see her get better? You're in this because _you_ want her to get better so that _you_ can be with her and it's just going to make things worse." He tries to argue but she gives him a knowing look that instantly quiets him. "If you care for her at all, you'll stay here and you'll take time for yourself to get your head on straight. Okay?"

He looks at her for a moment before offering her a small, short reluctant smile. "Okay."

She backs away, picking up the trashcan as she stands. "I also need you to stick around here," she says. "Keep an eye on the place and everything. I think it'd be better..."

He looks uncomfortable and nervous, slightly ashamed but she ignores it for his sake. "Sure," he nods. "Of course."

She turns to move away but then he calls her name timidly. She pauses for longer than she probably should before turning her head back to him.

"I'm sorry," he says, with a shrug. "For... you know."

She takes a deep breath, but doesn't say anything, and leaves instead.

/

"The hospital called again," Rachel says softly when she finds Santana back in Quinn's bathroom, on her hands and knees, tidying up the glass before she lets her climb down. She sits back as soon as she hears Rachel's words and listens carefully. "They said that your grandmother is asking if you've left yet, so I told them that you were gathering your things and then you were on your way."

Santana nods, filled with something that feels like nerves and dread mixed with confusion. It makes her feel nauseous and she wonders for a moment if she actually might throw up. She knows that Quinn won't judge her if she did.

"That's good," she says instead. "I have to tidy up in here first."

"I can do that," Rachel says, bullet-quick, almost looking anxious to help some more.

Santana laughs awkwardly. "You want your hands all over pieces of glass covered in Quinn's blood?"

Rachel shrugs. "Have you got another pair of those gloves?" Santana looks down at her fresh pair before nodding. Lies seem like too much effort. "Then I can do it, Santana. It's no problem and you need to leave."

Santana pauses, but then she feels Quinn's toes kicking against her back. She twists to look at her. It hits her again how tired and exhausted she looks.

"You're stalling," she says softly, not caring that Rachel's in the room. "What are you stalling for?"

Santana quickly realizes that she doesn't care either. "I don't know."

Quinn shrugs as much as she can. "So then let's go."

/

She and Rachel help Quinn to change into some of Santana's old sweats and a t-shirt because most of her own clothes are mixed in with glass or splattered with blood. Quinn groans as they manhandle her, Rachel slipping her into some slippers as Santana refastens the bandage supporting her arm against her chest.

They call Sam to come carry her downstairs but she bats him away and stands up, wincing at the pain from the cuts on her feet. They make it to the car about five times more slowly than they should do but, as Santana helps Quinn into the passenger seat, taking the pillows Rachel hands her for her to rest on, she feels strangely more at ease and nervous at the same time.

She's almost in the drivers' seat when Rachel stops her. "What do you think you're doing?" she asks.

Santana looks at the car, then at Rachel.

"Uh," she narrows her eyes. "Isn't it obvious?"

Rachel nods. "Yeah, and that's my point. You were drinking not a few hours ago. One of the boys should drive you."

Santana scoffs and waves her off. She tries to climb back into the car but Rachel pulls her back more forcefully. "God, I'm fine. What's the problem?"

Rachel just steps back and clears her throat. "Touch your right index finger to your nose, please," she says, demonstrating.

She looks at the crowd gathered on the porch for answers. Most of them just giggle. "Are you kidding right now?" she asks.

"Do you _want _me to make you walk in a straight line?"

She groans and throws her keys onto the seat. "Fine," she says and instantly presses her right index finger to her nose, following it with her left, just to make a point. "Happy?"

Rachel shakes her head. "No," she smiles. "I really would prefer it if you'd follow this straight line please."

She steps back from her and makes a line in the gravel. Santana stares at it.

"Jesus, Berry," she flails. "What are you gonna have me do next? Breathe into something?"

Rachel just looks at her. "Road safety is important. Cars are dangerous."

Santana walks the line anyway before coming to a halt in front of her. "Yeah, especially when I throw you in front of one."

Rachel looks at her with a smug grin. "You'll be thanking me when you're not dead."

The others are still giggling and that, along with everything else, makes her feel like she's not sure if she's nervous or at ease. She licks her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. Rachel just rolls her eyes at her and then reaches down to the ground and picks up a backpack before opening it.

"There's a flask of coffee in here," she says, handing it to Santana. "Strong and black. Pull over and drink some if you get tired. There's some juice boxes in there too." She pats it. "I also put the rest of the cookies in there—"

"What?" comes quietly from behind them and they both turn to see Finn's crestfallen face. He looks like a toddler. "All of em?"

Rachel's face scrunches in annoyance. "Yes, _Finn_, all of them," Santana finds amusement oozing up her limbs at the tone of Rachel's voice and Finn's sudden chastened expression. "When you have to drive through the night to Miami _you _can have some damn cookies, okay?" He mumbles something and Rachel scoffs before flipping her hair at him as she turns back to Santana. "Anyway, call us when you get there, okay?"

Santana nods, unable to mask her amusement. "Okay," she says, the night becoming all the weirder when Rachel pulls her into a one-armed hug.

/

"You feelin' okay?" she asks, forty minutes into their journey, glancing at Quinn as she shifts in her chair, her face resting against the pillow still pressed against the window.

Santana knows she hasn't been asleep. She keeps hearing it when Quinn relaxes too much and puts her weight on her feet or her bad arm, breathing in sharply when the pain registers.

She nods against the pillow, groaning a little.

"Just a little sore," she lies and Santana slows a little to reach into the compartment in the center console for some painkillers. She pops them with one hand. "Here," she says, guiding them to Quinn's mouth. Quinn parts her lips so that she can drop them in without question, just takes them and the juice box Santana hands her straight after. She lets her hold it awkwardly to her mouth and drinks quickly before Santana puts it back in the cup holder. "Thanks."

They lapse into silence, moving steadily along the quiet and desolate expanse of the Overseas Highway. Santana concentrates on the road, on convincing herself that she needs to stay awake, even though she knows it would be impossible for her to fall asleep right now. She knows that Quinn is sat beside her, wide awake as well, trying to figure out what they're meant to say to each other, but there's too much. There are so many words in Santana's head that she wants to say that broach a million different subjects. She wants to say _I'm worried, I'm sorry_ and _I wish Brittany was here_ all in one breath.

"They didn't say what was wrong with her?" Quinn asks all of a sudden and Santana takes a deep breath before glancing at her and shaking her head. Quinn makes a noise of interest. "That's weird."

Santana doesn't know how to say that that's one of the reasons she's so worried.

Instead, she remains silent, and keeps convincing herself to stay awake.

Soon her mantra turns from _stay awake stay awake stay awake _into _it's going to be okay it's going to be okay it's going to be okay. _

Neither help.

/

"Why did you bring so much cash?" Quinn asks as they sit in the parking garage below the hospital. It's just past six in the morning and she's all out of coffee.

She blinks and turns to Quinn, pausing in thumbing through the wad of cash in her hands. "Oh, it's... it's the cash that everyone gave me to come on the trip," she explains.

"You only just started using that?" Quinn questions, sitting up a little straighter.

Santana frowns and shrugs. "I kept it in here for gas."

"Santana," she says. "What would you need over a thousand dollars of gas for?"

Santana shakes her head. "I don't know," she grumbles, uncomfortable with the conversation. "I had savings. My parents gave me money that I used first and like... Abuela seems to have left money for me _everywhere_." She rolls her eyes. "I found like, a roll of twenties in the bedside table when we arrived with a note saying '_just in case love Abuela'_. She's always worrying."

Quinn nods at her like she's still confused. Santana shakes her head and leans over to the glove compartment instead.

"I'll need quarters," she says, grabbing a roll of them before jumping out the car.

/

Quinn struggles to the entrance of the hospital, sluggishly collapsing into Santana's side as she guides them to the emergency department with an arm around her back to support her. With her other hand, she checks her voicemail for any messages the hospital left her and finds none before shooting a _we're here_ text to Rachel.

"Hi," she says nervously, seeing how the woman in scrubs behind the counter looks at her in confusion at Quinn. "I'm Santana Lopez. Somebody named Debbie called me about my grandmother."

The woman seems to forget the sight of Quinn, her eyes widening at Santana instead. Wordlessly, she pushes her chair away from the desk and into another room behind it. Her voice is muffled for a while before another woman exits the room before her, a worried yet kind look on her face. Santana recognizes her but doesn't know why.

"Hi, Santana," the woman says as she makes her way out from behind the desk to stand in front of her. "You probably don't remember me, do ya? I'm Debbie, a friend of your grandma's. We spoke on the phone."

Her grandma's medical career is hazy to her but the familiarity of the woman forces her not to question whatever it is that she's saying. She nods and wraps her arm around Quinn as the woman gestures for them to follow.

"You were just a little girl when I metcha," she goes on. "Three or four, I should think by the looks of ya now. It was when your grandma was working on the kids' ward for a year. She was always doing that. Disappearing from that damn clinic of your grandfather's in Key West, sick of drunks and Spring Breakers who'd broke their arms actin' foolish." She shakes her head. "Anyway, sorry I couldn't tell you much on the phone but she's a stubborn old bird and she wanted to explain everything herself."

Santana hears the words but she doesn't listen to them. She follows after the woman, listening to Quinn's winces as she drags her to match the woman's fast pace. It's not until Quinn groans at the pain that the woman stops abruptly.

"What's wrong with her?" she asks with a frown.

Santana looks at Quinn who clutches at the back of her overalls, almost pulling her down to the floor with the tug. "She's... she had an accident," Santana explains. "She... she's been having some trouble with some stuff and... well, she had a fight with a mirror. Well, two mirrors."

Santana is surprised when Debbie just rolls her eyes and moves to Quinn's other side, tugging an abandoned wheelchair toward them from where they line the walls. She forces Quinn into it and then leans down to look at her feet. Quinn groans and covers her eyes with her better hand.

Santana takes a deep breath. "I... I spoke to my dad," she says softly, praying that Quinn doesn't hear her. "He—he thinks that she might have post-partum depression."

Quinn's breath hitches and the woman releases a sigh. Santana presses her hand to Quinn's shoulder, the only apology she can give right now, before looking expectantly at the other woman before.

"Let's getcha to your grandma," she says in a soft voice, moving to step behind the wheelchair. "Then we'll deal with your friend."

/

She takes them up a few floors before wheeling them off the elevator onto a quiet and lonely hospital ward. Santana pauses nervously for a moment before stepping after Debbie and Quinn, hands balled at her sides, not sure what she's supposed to do.

The closer she gets, the more inexplicably worried she grows.

She hates not knowing anything but feeling like she should at the same time. She hates feeling like everyone around her knows something that they're not telling her. Eyes watch her quietly from nurses' stations as she wanders along the hallway, pausing when she sees a familiar person at the end of the hallway.

"Uncle Frank?" she says, confused, and the loudness in the quiet of the hallway makes Quinn jump.

Frank jumps too, looking up from an in depth conversation he seems to be having with a nurse to find her.

"Cookie," he sighs softly, voice deflating with relief as he moves to meet her in the middle of the hallway. He wraps her in a hug without another word and she takes it, resting her head on his shoulder as his back bends to meet her height.

It makes a sudden rush of panic and worry overcome her. She clutches him tighter, needing the contact before whispering softly in his ear. "What's going on?" she asks.

He holds her closer until she can feel her feet being lifted off the floor. "She wants to tell you herself," he whispers back. "She wants to explain."

Her breath hitches from the sadness, the hopelessness. She's scared, more scared than she ever remembers being. Especially in a hospital. For her, hospitals have always been the places where the people who look after her always are: her parents, her grandparents, doctors. That comfort, that solace and protection and safety she always feels when she's in hallways like these, starts to feel like it's cracking, like it's being taken away from her and replaced with something else.

"But can't you tell me first?" she whispers when he still hasn't let her go and she still hasn't released him. "Like, what are you doing here? How long have you been here?"

He sighs and she feels his big, bucket-sized hands lifting to the back of her head. His thumb strokes over the curve of her skull and she settles into the touch. "Since yesterday," he explains. "Yesterday morning I got the call that she was in the emergency room and I got here in the afternoon. She wanted to call you about six but we made her hold off until this morning to see if things got better, but she wouldn't take no for an answer."

The fear aches deep in her limbs and Frank tries to pull back but she holds on for a little bit longer, not sure if she'll be able to stand up. She's terrified and everything else that's happened in the past couple of days is forgotten as she stands in the middle of an unfamiliar hospital hallway knowing absolutely nothing about why she's there.

"Is she going to be okay?" she asks and she feels like a kid. She feels as small as one, that's for sure. "I mean..." she shakes her head and then repeats herself. "Is she going to be okay?"

He untangles Santana from around him and grips at her shoulders. He struggles a smile before pushing some of her hair from her face kindly. "I think you should just go and see her, Cookie," he whispers. "I think that's best."

/

She tries once more to stall, telling them that she needs to make sure Quinn gets treated, that her mom gets called so that they have her consent to provide medical treatment. Uncle Frank just shakes his head at her, tells her he'll take care of it, before guiding her back towards a new nurse.

She notices Santana's discomfort because she wraps one arm around her shoulders and uses the other to rub her forearm as she tells her that her name is June. Santana just looks at her with wide eyes as she guides her down the corridor, only looking away from her kind face when she sees the sign saying "Intensive Care Unit" on the wall behind her.

It makes her feel sick.

It makes her feet start to fail her as she realizes, all too overwhelmingly, that she doesn't want to know what's happening, that she'd rather stay out here until someone can reassure her that nothing bad's going to happen.

June looks at her sadly and wraps her up tighter, hushing her softly as she urges her towards the door. Santana resists but the woman is strong. She manages to get Santana there before she knows it and leaves her in the doorway, letting go of her and walking in before her.

"Elena..." she says softly as she approaches this small, unfamiliar person who lays on the bed, surrounded by too-many machines and beeping noises. Tiny neon lights flash in the murky darkness and Santana stares around her in confusion, sure that she must be in the wrong place. Her grandmother can't be here.

"Elena, Santana's here to see you..." A kind hand brushes over the cheek of the person on the bed, hidden behind an oxygen mask, before it begins to lift it from her face. "Are you going to wake up?"

Dark eyes flutter open and Santana steps back a little, desperate to hide away from them, unprepared for the way that the familiar sparkle in them instantly illuminates all the darkness in the room like it always does. It draws a shocked little gasp from within her and she steps back a little, waiting for instruction as she tries to understand what she's seeing. Her fingers tangle together in front of her and she watches as her grandmother looks up at Nurse June for reassurance, for a promise that she's not lying.

The nurse smiles at her grandmother warmly, nodding towards where Santana stands in the doorway awkwardly. Santana doesn't do anything except take in an unsteady breath and wish that she was happier to see her.

"Cookie?" she says and her voice floats through the room like it always does, warm and soft and instantly coating her in comfort despite how terrified she feels.

Her grandmother turns her head to the side to see her properly. Santana's struck by how pale her face is, how different her skin looks, like it might hurt her to touch her. She feels her lip start to quiver uncontrollably and she doesn't move, doesn't dare breathe, just in case. Her grandmother's mouth quirks in a sad smile and her hand lifts slowly, reaching for her.

"Come here," she whispers, without room for argument. Santana notices how her voice is withered and croaky and stays where she is because of it. Her grandmother clicks her tongue. "Santana, come here."

The sudden bark in that voice urges her closer, purely because of how normal it sounds all of a sudden. She feels like a little girl trying to climb on things she shouldn't again and the way her grandmother's voice bites makes her feel comfortable and protected.

Her chucks tap against the floor and she wishes that she'd changed before she came. She doesn't know why but that feels important as she approaches the bed. Her grandmother's hand is still outstretched by the time she gets there and she gulps at it before taking it slowly. From here, she can see her grandmother better but it doesn't make her any less scared.

There's just too many scary things surrounding her to make that possible.

The hospital gown that covers her body. Her too-pale skin. The skinniness of her hands. The wires attached to her at all different points of her body. The oxygen tube in her nose that runs down either side of her face and behind her head that once grew thick dark hair like her own, before it turned gray.

Now, it grows no hair at all.

She can see where her hair line used to be, naked and smooth, only half hidden beneath the deep purple, perfectly-wrapped scarf that attempts to hide it.

She can see it all, but she refuses to understand.

"Abuela?" she whispers uncertainly around a breathless laugh. "What's going on?"

Her grandmother smiles and shakes her head. Her hand squeezes weakly around Santana's fingers, her smile struggling to stay on her face. She looks away for a moment at Nurse June who stands by the machines with a chart in her hands, checking things. She looks up when her abuela turns to her and wordlessly puts the chart down, moving closer to her to check if she's okay.

"Can you get Santana one of the comfy chairs?" she asks softly and Nurse June smiles before straightening and picking up the chart again. She marks off a few more things before slipping it into the holder and the foot of the bed.

She stops at the door before turning back to them. "Is there anything else you'd like while I'm gone?" she asks.

Her grandmother looks at Santana and shakes her head sadly. "A chocolate milk," she says softly and then Nurse June is gone, leaving them alone and closing the door behind her.

Santana subconsciously rubs her thumb over her abuela's knuckles. Her skin feels the same and different, warm like usual but utterly cold too.

"You're not supposed to have chocolate milk," Santana says softly. "You're lactose intolerant."

Her grandmother chuckles breathlessly and then lifts Santana's hand until she can kiss its palm.

"It's not for me," she tells her gently. "It's for you."

Santana's never understood how she's spent fifty years in this country and her accent is still that thick. She lets the syllables fill her ears, waiting for her grandmother to say something else, just because she always somehow forgets how much she misses her voice. But she squeezes her hand first and, when Santana refocuses on her, she looks serious and sad.

Santana's scared. Too scared.

"It'll make you feel better," her grandmother whispers determinedly.

Somehow, they both know it won't.

/

Nurse June returns twenty minutes later, a male porter lugging a big comfy arm chair in behind her. He sets it beside the bed and offers it to Santana, watching her sit down slowly on it before leaving. June watches him leave and it's then that Santana notices the glass of chocolate milk. She leans forward to put it on the tray table in front of her grandmother, moves the table closer up the bed nearer to Santana, before slipping a multicolored twisty straw into it.

Santana doesn't like how everyone's treating her like a five year-old, how they're treating her like she's the one who should be in the hospital. She whispers a gruff thank you to the nurse before turning to watch her leave.

"What's going on?" she whispers when she sees more nurses peering through the glass windows at them. She feels like a fish in a tank and wonders if it would be okay if she closed the gross peach drapes.

Her grandmother hums and then she coughs, loud and empty and hollow, from as deep as she can manage into her lungs.

It doesn't actually sound all that deep at all. It sounds like there's no room left for anything in them.

But it makes the headscarf slips a little and Santana knows the instant she sees that she was right. All her hair is gone and she _knows_ what that must mean. She wants to scream because this must be why she's here. There's no other reason.

Her grandmother is quick to notice the realization because she reaches up to tug the scarf back into place, her eyes fluttering closed in disappointment.

"_Cancer_?" Santana breathes out, feeling like her own lungs are giving out on her. She snatches back the hand grasped in her grandmother's and presses it to her aching chest. "Cancer?" she asks again, voice welling with tears.

Her grandmother shakes her head and a sound rumbles in her chest. "You were..." she pauses to breathe. "You were never meant to find out like this..."

The immediate lack of denial makes all breath in Santana's lungs leave her. All blood from her body rushes to her head making her feel instantly light-headed and she gasps at the words, her hope lost.

Her mouth opens and closes and she shakes her head, desperate for it to not be true. Her grandmother reaches for her as much as she can, as much as being prone in a hospital bed will allow. But Santana's too busy backing as far away from her in the chair as she can to realize that her grandmother needs to hold her somehow right now. She's too busy feeling like her life is falling further apart at the seams to notice how unimportant her feelings are at this moment in time.

"You—you—you have cancer?" she asks finally, clutching at herself as her eyes grow wide. Her grandmother mumbles to herself softly in Spanish, her other hand clutching her chest. "Is that why you're _here_? Because you've got _cancer_?"

"I have an infection in my chest," she says softly, cutting through Santana's panic. Santana gasps again, feeling a little bit of hope return. "I have an infection in my chest because I don't have enough white blood cells to fight it away..." She pauses, her breathing uneven, her eyes staring carefully at Santana like she might bolt at any second. "And... I don't have enough white blood cells because the chemotherapy destroyed all the bad ones when it was trying to fight away my leukemia."

Santana's breath rushes from her again and her face falls. Her grandmother shakes her head at the sight of her, reaches for her again and grabs one of Santana's hands as it falls to grip at the edge of the bed to steady her. She clutches it tightly as Santana crumples like a sugar cube in the rain.

"Leukemia?" she whisper, her voice croaking. She understands, now, why they were treating her like a kid. She feels like a kid, as clueless and broken as one anyway. She doesn't really know what any of this means, what's going to happen.

Her grandmother takes in a deep breath. It quivers in her lungs. "Leukemia," she verifies softly.

"Are you going to die?" Santana asks pathetically, her voice rising in pitch the more she tries to stop herself from crying. She pulls herself closer to her grandmother, wrapping her other hand around her grandmother's wrist, urging her to tell her she's being ridiculous with a gentle stroke of her thumb.

Her grandmother smiles and shrugs her shoulders. "It's going to happen one day, Cookie," she says and it's everything Santana doesn't want to hear.

"But," Santana starts, her head shaking. "Are they going to fix you? Are they going to make you better? Did the chemotherapy work? I don't understand."

Her grandmother reaches towards the tray table before her, her face still constricting with pain and discomfort. "Drink your milk," she whispers softly.

Santana gasps. "I don't want the damn chocolate milk!" she snaps loudly. "I want to know if my grandmother's going to die!"

It makes her snap, both of her hands pulling away from her grandmother's to cover her face with her hands. She starts sobbing instantly. Her hands, once dry and gross from the stupid disinfectant gunk they forced her to put on when she arrived, instantly become soaked with her tears. Her nose starts running as sobs bubble out hopelessly from her lips. She can't stop herself and she hates it. She hates all of it.

It takes her a while but she eventually pulls her hands away from her face, wiping them on the thighs of her overalls before wiping her nose with her wrist. She shakes her head adamantly and refuses to look at her grandmother. If she doesn't look at her what she's saying isn't real.

"This is how chemotherapy works, Santana," her grandmother whispers. "I'm lucky that I got this far without getting this sick..."

Santana still sobs as she looks over into the corner of the room, where a bouquet of lilies sit on the windowsill. She pulls her thighs up against her chest and stares at them like they hold all the answers.

"There's nothing else they can do?" she whispers, voice hitching. "There's... there's nothing else that they can give you that will make it go away? They're just making you sicker?"

Her grandmother shakes her head tiredly.

The new information makes her realize just how tired and breathless her grandmother looks, makes her remember how tired and exhausted she looked almost four weeks ago when she'd last seen her. Four fucking weeks that Santana didn't even think a things of it and now she's in a hospital.

"But it's leukemia," she says, shaking her head. People survive leukemia all the time so why can't there be something else that might make her grandmother better. "There's got to be something like... like a transplant or, I don't know, some magic fucking drug..."

"Your language is terrible," her grandmother comments idly, looking at her with so much fondness that it hurts.

She sniffs. "Sorry."

"It's okay," her grandmother whispers. "I was angry, too."

Santana nods and wonders what it must feel like to be told there's nothing anyone can do for you. It must suck more than anything, to have that hope stripped away.

"There's nothing?" she asks softly. "Nothing at all."

Her grandmother's eyes glaze over and she looks torn, her hands resting over her stomach as she looks at Santana. She looks so small but her presence has always been so much larger than life. Santana can almost feel it shrinking away. She looks at her grandmother and for a split second she sees a twinkle of hope, the truth, hidden behind her eyes as she blinks carefully.

"What?" she whispers, wiping her cheeks and perking up. "What is it?" She pauses and second guesses everything she's heard. "There _is _something, isn't there?"

Her grandmother rolls her eyes and it's like looking in a mirror. She shakes her head. "I won't let you do it."

Santana sits forward and grabs one of her hands. She wipes her eyes with the other. "Do what? What can I do?"

Her grandmother doesn't look at her but looks over at the windowsill too, staring at the lilies. Santana watches her intently, how her eyes skate over the petals and watch how the first rays of sun make them look like they're covered in glitter as it hits them.

"Bone marrow," she whispers quietly. "A bone marrow transplant."

/

"Santana, it's not possible," Uncle Frank tells her as she stands at the nurses' station with her hands bunched adamantly at her sides. "It's too late and there's no guarantee it'll work. There are tests and there are exams and the doctor said that she might not have enough time for that.

"I don't _care_," Santana says, gasping. "I want to be tested."

"No," he says bluntly.

"You can't stop me," she bites. "The doctors will do it."

Uncle Frank shakes his head. "Not without parental consent."

Santana looks at him incredulously. She drops her shoulders and gestures vaguely at her grandmother's hospital room down the hall. A group of nurses hang around their station watching them, eying them curiously as Santana refuses to back down.

"Abuela is _dying_, Uncle Frank!" she tells him pointedly and he takes in a deep breath at her words, like he didn't need to hear them again. "She's fucking dying unless someone does something to help her. Do you _really_ think that my parents are going to give a shit about parental consent when I could help save her fucking life? Hell, one of them could save her life for all we know. That's why they _need_ to test me!"

He sighs and his jaw quivers like he wants to say something to her. He has that same awkward look that adults do sometimes, when they know that what they want to say is going to completely change how a kid sees the world. He sighs and his jaw quivers with the need to speak, knowing his wise wisdom is all she'll need to know to grow up. Her parents do it, too. It's always weird. It's like she can feel how they don't know how to negotiate between giving her a harsh dose of grown-up reality and keeping her innocent so she can't see how cruel and painful the world can be.

"Do you even know where your parents are?" Uncle Frank asks after a few moments of silence. "Do you have a number to call them so that we can get their permission and tell them what's happening? Because that's the issue we're dealing with right now."

Santana pauses and then takes in a breath to clear her head a little.

"I've—I've been calling my dad's cell," she shrugs after a moment, hope rising. She reaches deep into the pocket of her overalls and pulls out her own cell phone, scrolling through menus and lists until she finds her father's number. "Sometimes it doesn't work because they're not on land but... it's worth a try, right?"

Uncle Frank sighs, not happy with that answer, and puts his hands on her shoulders. "Cookie..." he says as calmly as he can.

She looks up at him and shakes her head. Her eyes well with tears and she can't just let them all be so passive about this. She can't just let them sit back and hope that a few antibiotics will work when the odds are so bad and there's something she could do that might actually make her better.

"Please," she begs him quietly. "_Please_, just help me try."

"You're seventeen, Santana," he whispers. "There's _nothing _they'll do unless you have permission from a parent or guardian."

"It's just a blood test," she shrugs. "I freaking spit swab. I don't see what the big deal is. It's not going to hurt me." She scoffs when he makes no reaction, shaking her head. "I fucking hate this country. If I was fucking pregnant right now, there would be no freaking problem getting a blood test without my parents knowing. But want to give your sick grandmother some bone marrow and they'll make sure you can't even try."

"Santana..."

She shoves herself away from him and shakes her head. Everything just feels so out of her control, so quick and slippery like water running through her fingers. She hates knowing that there's something she can do. She hates even more that nobody will let her do it.

"Just call my parents," she begs quietly. Frank instantly opens his mouth to say something to her but she cuts through him. "Just call them and ask them."

"Santana..."

"Please," she whispers. "Just try."

He looks at her and she sees the moment when he gives in. His eyes soften and he breathes out unsteadily. He looks at her like he can't believe what's happening and then his body crackles as he finally gives up trying.

"I'll talk to them," he says. "And your grandmother. But I'm not promising anything."

She smiles and feels relief for the first time in days.

/

She finds Quinn on the next floor, laying on a bed in an empty ward with an IV drip in the back of her hand. She smiles lazily as Santana approaches her and Santana can't help but smile back a little as she drops to sit at the end of the bed.

"Ugh, there's a chair right there," Quinn grumbles, more alert than the last time Santana saw her two hours ago.

Santana just ignores her words and rests a hand on her leg instead, squeezing gently. She looks at her and sees how the color is back in her cheeks, how her eyes are a bit brighter and she's more alert. There are some cookies and juice on the tray in front of her and Santana feels better knowing that she's getting the proper care she needs. It makes her feel more at ease knowing that there's worse things she might have to deal with.

"I'm not staying long," she says in explanation. "I just thought I'd come see what the damage was."

Quinn raises her arm slowly, wincing a little. "Forty-three stitches, a shit ton of those paper suture things but hopefully no scar," she says around a goofy smile. "The painkillers and fluids aren't hurting either."

Santana nods as a smirk tugs at her lips. She feels tired but she doesn't feel sleepy. Still, part of her just wants to lay down beside Quinn and not get up.

"Nice," she says, running her fingers over the fresh bandages on Quinn's left arm. "Did they call your mom?"

Quinn rolls her eyes at that. "Yeah," she nods, softly. "She kept saying that she was going to come here and make sure I was okay. I think she just wanted a vacation. She wasn't even thinking about how she could never afford the journey." She sighs irritably. "Anyway, they're making her like... fax over the consent forms or something."

Santana grimaces. "Who faxes?"

Quinn snorts. "I know, right?" They lapse into silence before Quinn nudges Santana's leg. Her face looks serious and concerned when she asks, "How's your grandma?"

Santana takes a deep breath and looks away from her to find the right words but they're just not there. She shakes her head and feels tears prick at her eyes again because saying them out loud only validates them more. Quinn reaches for her fingers and squeezes.

"It's leukemia," she whispers and she's glad for the way her cell phone vibrates at the same time that Quinn's face starts to fall in recognition. She ignores it quickly, wiping tears from her cheeks that aren't there before pulling her cell from her pocket. She stares at the screen in disbelief before instantly feeling her heart sink with dread and worry.

She can't deal with this right now.

"Who is it?" Quinn asks when Santana rubs her forehead at the screen, desperate to just scream at everything that's happening. There's a voice in the back of her head that asks _What now? _over and over again.

Instead of picking up the first thing she can see and throwing it, Santana laughs and tries not to burst into large, overwhelmed sobs.

"Bobby," she says softly. "It's Bobby."

"Big Brother Bobby?" Quinn asks softly, concern coating her voice some more. There's something behind it that Santana can hear but is too exhausted to question.

Santana nods at the same time she accepts the call. "Yeah?" she says to both of them, getting up off of the bed.

"_Do you want to tell me why my sister keeps finding it necessary to traipse across the country on her own, Santana_?" he says in lieu of a greeting. She folds her arm around herself and shakes her head.

"You're asking the wrong person," she whispers brokenly, wiping her face again, expecting tears that haven't started yet. "I didn't have anything to do with any of it. You'll have to ask her."

"_I haven't seen her yet_," Bobby says and she can hear the sleep in his voice, the annoyance and the worry. "_I just wanted to know why she's calling me from Detroit and crying down the phone. Do you know anything about that?_" he asks. "_Do you know whose ass I have to kick for making my baby sister cry_?"

Santana's breath hitches and she can feel those overwhelmed tears behind her eyes like ever-increasing bubbles desperate to pop. She takes slow and steady breaths and coughs to clear her throat as the first teardrop rolls down the apple of her left cheek.

"Bobby," she says softly. "Bobby, I'm busy and I can't do this right now, okay?" She covers her mouth as a sob breaks through. "Bobby, you need to talk to her because I _can't_, okay?"

"_Santana, what's—_"

"I have to go," she croaks and pauses as she pulls the phone away from her ear before putting it back. "Take care of her," she says and then she hangs up, letting the tears free.

/

She sits with Quinn and tries to calm herself down before she heads back to her grandmother. Quinn just sits behind her and rubs her back, only speaking once to ask her if she's okay when Santana gets up off the bed to pace for a while.

It's about an hour later when they both head back down to the floor below, Quinn pushing her IV line around beside her as they take the elevator downstairs.

They find a doctor in the room when they get there and he immediately turns his attention to them, curiosity in his eyes. His eyes quickly concentrate on Santana after a moment and she looks away from him nervously to watch Quinn quietly exchange a hello with her grandmother before Uncle Frank forces her down into a nearby chair. He's chastising her for not keeping her feet elevated when Santana turns back to the doctor and finds that he's still watching her quietly.

"You're Santana," he says after a moment and it isn't a question. She smiles at him awkwardly and he returns it only bigger. "You look just like each other which is a good sign because it obviously means you share a lot of your genes."

Santana looks to her grandmother in confusion only to find her quietly laying in bed, worrying her hands together. She switches her gaze to Uncle Frank who looks more tired than he did an hour ago.

"We got hold of your dad," he says softly. "He said that the doctors can take the blood and saliva sample and then we'll take it from there, okay?"

Santana's eyes widen in shock and she looks to her grandmother who just stares ahead of her, eyes dark and heavy. Santana steps closer to her to perch on the end of her bed.

"And—and what if we match?" she asks around a stutter. "What happens then?"

She's not sure whose attention she needs to keep so she looks around until one of them speaks. Uncle Frank just stares at the floor and her grandmother just lets Santana take her hand, stroking it calmly with the pad of her thumb. It's the doctor who finally answers her.

"Well, once we've taken your samples we'll send them to our lab to see if you're a tissue match to your grandmother. If you are," he explains. "We'll do further tests to see how well your DNA matches and, if it does—which, I have to tell you, is less likely than if you were a sibling or child—we'll make sure you're healthy enough and you can donate."

Santana knows what happens then. She spent her childhood with her head in medical textbooks. Of _course_ she knows what happens next and, as much as she hates the thought of it, she'll do it if it means her grandmother gets to live a little longer. A little bit of pain is worth it to keep her around a little while longer.

"Okay," she says quietly. Her grandmother squeezes her hand tightly. "Let's do it."

/

The saliva sample is easy. A nurse takes it from her as the doctor stands outside and talks to Uncle Frank in low voices she can't hear. She watches them as the nurse makes notes on pieces of paper and jolts a little when she takes her arm and starts rolling up her sleeve.

She tenses at the realization of what comes next and smiles uncomfortably at the nurse as she begins disinfecting the spot inside Santana's elbow.

"You don't like needles," the nurse states quietly and Santana laughs awkwardly and nods in agreement. The nurse squeezes her hand gently. "Just look away," she says as she ties something around the top of Santana's arm. "It won't take a minute."

She watches Uncle Frank instead and ignores the way the needle scratches and punctures her skin, telling herself that over and over that it's worth it.

Any pain is worth it if it saves her life.

/

"I won't let you do this," her grandmother mumbles from beside her.

Santana looks up from the literature the doctor had given her to read and frowns in confusion. "What?" she says when her grandmother doesn't continue. "Why?"

A brown-eyed gaze snaps to her warningly and if looks could kick her ass, her abuela's would be doing it. She recoils back a little, despite everything telling her not to.

"If you're a match then they'll put you under anesthesia and they'll stick needles in your back or they'll give you shots that will make you feel sick and I won't let that happen because of me."

Santana laughs instantly. She stops just as quickly, weary of the glare she gets because of it. Instead she takes the gentle approach and softens her eyes at her grandmother. "It's going to save your life," she reminds her.

"I don't care," she says in response and her voice is panicked, worried and Santana loves her for that. Santana loves how her grandmother is still worried about other people when the only person she should give a crap about is herself.

She leans forward and rests her elbows on the edge of the bed and peers up to where her grandmother sits, indignantly adamant. When she doesn't look at her, Santana takes her hand and holds it in her own. It does the trick, because, eventually, her grandmother has no choice but to turn to her. Santana instantly sees the tears in her eyes.

"I don't know what I'd do if you ever had to hurt because of me..." her grandmother admits and Santana feels her heart lurch a little.

She laughs again, softer this time, and kisses the back of her grandmother's hand, sloppy and wet like a toddler, her lips smacking against it. Her grandmother smiles slightly and Santana grins in triumph.

"You're being ridiculous," she says and, when she raises her eyebrows pointedly, her grandmother just holds her hand tighter.

/

She spends all day in her grandmother's room, nodding off at random intervals and waking up with a white hospital-brand blanket snuggled around her body.

Her hand still grips tightly to her grandmother's and she doesn't let it go, no matter what. Not even when the doctor knocks on the door around six o'clock that evening and smiles at them widely. If anything, she grips it tighter.

"Looks like you might be a match," he says warmly and Santana jolts up in her chair at the news, eyes catching the worried gaze of her grandmother, the overwhelmed relief on Uncle Frank's face and the quiet excitement that widens a smile on Quinn's mouth.

"So what happens now?" Quinn asks because suddenly Santana can't speak from the hope welling in her chest, in her stomach, in her limbs. It feels like she's been filled with rocket fuel and that she could run around the entire hospital twice without stopping once to catch her breath. She tries to calm herself, knowing it's too soon to get her hopes up just yet.

"Well," the doctor breathes. "We're still testing the DNA for a complete match but... from what we've seen—and I've never seen it before between a grandparent and grandchild—you're probably a perfect match."

Uncle Frank lets out a laugh and buries his face into his hands. Quinn grins across the room at Santana but Santana doesn't know what the hell is going on. She just sits in shocked silence.

"So, now," the doctor continues. "What we really need to do is wait for your grandmother's chest infection to clear away—which, since your last set of tests, it appears to be doing—and then we need to make sure you, Santana, are healthy enough to give the donation and then we'll do it." He pauses and shifts his head from side to side as though weighing his options. "I'm prepared to try for Wednesday morning if we can."

"So soon?" Her grandmother asks, her voice exasperated.

The doctor smiles at her. "This is the perfect time to do it," he says. "You just had your last cycle of chemo a little over a week ago. It's the perfect time to give you a bone marrow transplant as long as your infection clears away. That's why I want to do this transplant the old-fashioned way: we've got to act fast."

"Really fast," Santana finally breathes.

The doctor smiles and moves closer to squeeze her shoulder. "Gotta be fast if you're saving a life," he says and Santana nods, not sure what else to do.

/

"You're leaving," her grandmother tells her around a smile.

Santana scoffs around her mouthful of pudding, leaning forward to drink the last of her chocolate milk.

"Just one more episode!" she begs, as her grandmother laughs and takes the spoon from her hand. Santana yelps at her and grabs it back as gently as she can. "At least let me finish my damn pudding."

"You've had four!" her grandmother says, rolling her eyes and grabbing the spoon back. "You need rest! When was the last time you slept? You look like somebody punched you in the nose and gave you two black eyes."

Santana smirks and shakes her head before jumping up off the chair with a huff. Quinn sits across the room in another one, fast asleep and no longer attached to her IV.

"I guess you're right," Santana says and Uncle Frank leans down to pick up Quinn like she weighs nothing. "I should probably sleep so I can take all those tests properly tomorrow." She leans down to kiss her grandmother. "Love you," she whispers.

Her grandmother grabs her and presses a kiss on the bridge of her nose. "I love you, too," she says. "Now go."

/

Uncle Frank refuses to let her drive and makes comments about how unnecessarily large her car is the entire two minute journey to the local Marriott. He parks up and guides them inside the hotel, getting them and himself a king suite, before asking the lady behind the front desk where the nearest pizza place is. He doesn't even give Santana a chance to argue when he takes her keys and leaves them behind, just shouts that he'll bring them food if they're ready for bed by the time he gets back.

Quinn, leaning against her, exhausted, just yawns at him.

The room is nice for what it is. There's a bed and a couch and a bathroom and that's really all they need. She assumes that it's really for business people who come in through the nearby airport and maybe doctors and families who are just passing through the hospital. She stares around herself nervously, as Quinn throws herself down on the bed, and wonders how long she'll be stuck here.

She kicks off her Chucks and sits herself down on the couch, rubbing the balls of her feet and not really feeling tired at all. She feels wired, like she's had ten cups of coffee in the past two hours and hasn't peed yet. Quinn lazily finds the TV remote and turns it on, flicking through channels and finding something that she's already dozing off to before she's even noticed what it is.

Santana has no idea how long she's been sitting there staring into space but, when the door knocks and she opens it to find Uncle Frank carrying a bag full of food, she guesses it was probably a while. He looks at her curiously but she just takes the food and huge bottle of Sprite from him wordlessly, glad for Quinn as she lazily trudges over to see what's happening.

He grips her arm after she quietly thanks him and pulls her closer, looking at her for a few moments before deciding something he doesn't reveal to her.

"I'll wake you up at eight," he tells her instead and then gives her a look that says there's no point arguing. She nods and rolls her eyes at him, watching him jangle her car keys at her before pocketing them and heading up the hall to his own room. She wasn't going to argue or try to leave earlier anyway, but he doesn't need to know that.

"You should ring Berry," Quinn says from the bed, mouth and hands working tiredly around a slice of pizza. "She'll be mad at you otherwise."

Santana snorts as she closes the door. "Since when do you care about Berry?"

Quinn smirks. "Since she started caring about you," she says. "I bet she's probably packing a bag right now to come make sure you're okay."

Santana shoves her a little as she flops down on the bed beside her. "Jackass," she says, grabbing the remote and pretending she doesn't care.

/

"_That's a brave thing to do, Santana_," Rachel says around a breath. "_Are you sure about it_?"

"She's my grandmother," Santana says and she doesn't get what no one understands about that. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know that we're—well, me, I guess—I'm going to be here until at least Thursday, so you guys can just head on home whenever you want. Just lock the house up and give the keys to Aunt Dena at the bar. She'll know what to do."

"_I'll talk to the others and let you know what's happening_," Rachel says softly. "_Are you okay, though? I mean, with Quinn and everything. Do you want one of us to come up there to pick her up?_"

"I don't know, I think she's okay here," Santana says, still eating the pizza that Frank got them. She turns to Quinn, laying beside her. "Do you want someone to come pick you up so you can go back home with them?" Quinn shakes her head, eyes still glued to the TV. "She says no."

"_Well, okay then,_" Rachel says and she sounds just about as shocked as Santana must have done this morning when she found everything out. "_Call us if you need anything, okay?_"

Santana nods even though Rachel can't see her. "Will do."

"_Wait, Artie's here and he wants to talk to Quinn_," Rachel says hurriedly. "_Artie, hang on._"

Santana falters as she looks back at Quinn, she wipes her hands on a napkin and taps Quinn's leg.

"Artie wants to talk to you," she says carefully. Quinn's eyes flicker away from the TV and she looks up at Santana before shaking her head. Santana squeezes her knee. "She's really tired right now," she says instead of handing the phone over. "They pumped her full of all this stuff and she's just... feeling really crappy right now."

Rachel pauses on the line and she must be able to tell by the tone of Santana's voice, or the pause between her words, what's really going on because she mumbles something off to Artie about how Quinn's asleep.

"_Really, Santana_," she says a few moments later at the same time Quinn quietly takes and holds her hand. "_Call us if you need _anything, _okay?_"

Santana takes a deep breath and falls back against the pillows beside Quinn. "Yeah," she breathes, squeezing. "Understood."

/

Uncle Frank wakes her at eight-thirty with the news that the hospital just called him to tell him she's a perfect match for her grandmother.

She lays in bed beside Quinn after falling back against the mattress and breathes out slowly at what the coming days are going to bring.

An hour or so later, she's called into the doctor's office, before she even gets close to seeing her grandmother, and they give her a list of appointments she has to make throughout the day as Uncle Frank stands off in the corner on the phone. Santana has no idea who he's talking to but she watches him carefully as it's obvious he's slowly losing his patience.

"Do you have any existing medical conditions that might prevent you from making this donation?"

Santana looks back at the doctor and blinks slowly at him, shaking her head. "No," she says softly, unable to shake the strange feeling that's she's more overwhelmed than she's ever been in her life. "No, I don't."

/

"I don't want you to do this," her grandmother says again once she's sat down. She looks brighter today, but angrier and more concerned, too. There's also this strange layer coating her eyes and Santana would call it fear if she'd ever seen her grandmother afraid before. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this because you don't. I don't want you to have to feel any pain because of me. This is more than just bone marrow, Santana..."

Santana just sighs at her worrying before gripping both of her cheeks and gently kissing the top of her head. "Can you stop?" she asks softly. "Those are terrible reasons for me not to do this. Give me a real reason and I'll consider it."

Her grandmother just looks at her and Santana feels something unsettle inside of her as she realizes that there might just be fear in her shiny brown eyes. Her grandmother's lips quiver with the need to speak but eventually, she shakes her head and turns her head to kiss one of Santana's hands still on her cheeks.

"Okay," she relents. "Okay."

/

She's waiting to see another doctor when she tries to call her parents again.

It's the seventeenth time since yesterday afternoon and she's starting to get a little confused.

She wonders if wherever they are has no cell coverage or if they're already making their way to Miami to be with them.

She tries again and gets no answer before pocketing her phone as the specialist calls her in.

/

The doctor—Doctor Burns, as Santana recently discovered—smiles at her grandmother as the nurse leaves with another blood test. Another doctor, one of the intensive care lung specialists, sits on the side of the bed beside her grandmother and asks her to slowly breathe in.

"Sounds good," he says gently as he pulls the stethoscope away from her back and tugs it out of his ears. Santana slowly helps him to ease her grandmother back down onto the bed and straightens up her gown as he checks through his notes. "Looks like it's clearing up well. If Dr. Burns says it's okay, we'll probably have to start thinking about moving you down to the transplant unit."

"Already?" Santana says excitedly as her grandmother grabs for her hand. She lets her take it and then calms herself a little. "I mean, are you sure? She's still so tired and everything."

The doctor looks up at her gently and smiles like she's clueless. Dr. Burns steps closer to the bed and squeezes her shoulder. "She just had her last round of chemo a little over a week ago. That's probably why she's still tired and has so little energy. But it's okay because once we've given her this transplant she'll start feeling a lot better." He pauses. "Everything's going great," he tells her and, despite everything in her telling her not to, she starts to believe it.

/

"I'm sorry I ruined your vacation," her grandmother says from beside her.

Santana, still engrossed in another episode of _Wheel of Fortune_, turns to look at her confused.

"Your vacation," her grandmother repeats. "You must have been going home soon and I ruined it."

Santana rolls her eyes and puts down the slice of toast the nurses made her for her lunch, demanding that she eat. "You don't have to worry about that," she shrugs around a sigh. "I'm pretty sure it was slowly going downhill from the moment we left Lima."

"Oh?" her grandmother says and Santana revels in how her voice is growing stronger the more her chest improves. She must take too long responding because her grandmother strokes a lock of her hair behind her ear and strokes the back of her fingers quickly over Santana's cheek. "What about Brittany?" she asks softly. "It must be okay having Brittany there. You must be missing her. Why don't you call her and ask her to come too? She could help you with Quinn."

Santana looks down at her grandmother's hand on the bed beside her plate and doesn't take her eyes off of it as she tries to calm the sudden thudding of her heart in her chest. She gulps and tries to fight away how tears are suddenly back burning up her throat, how her eyes are stinging, and concentrates on how to explain herself to the only other person she cares about disappointing.

"Cookie?" her grandmother prompts gently when she's still just sat there silently. She reaches to lift Santana's chin with her fingers and tilts her head to the side when she sees her face. The knowing exhale of air she releases makes Santana wince a little. "What happened?"

Her eyes flick away from the intensity of her grandmother's but also to urge the need to cry away. She tries to laugh at herself but it doesn't really work. Her grandmother doesn't smile and she doesn't feel particularly better from it. Instead, she breathes out as the first tear rolls down her cheek.

"It's—it's over. She... she couldn't wait anymore," she whispers brokenly. "She promised she'd never leave but—but then she did." She chokes a little, attempting to shrug her shoulders. "She... she found out that I got into Stanford and I don't think she could see the point of sticking around if it was only for a year... I couldn't tell her—I couldn't tell her..."

She expects her grandmother's sympathy and maybe a click of her tongue for being so stupid, but all she gets is a stare directed at her that reveals nothing.

"Stanford?" her grandmother says, ignoring everything else. Santana rolls her eyes and waits for the same unadulterated pride her parents had showered her with the day she'd got the letter. It was all they could talk about until they left for their trip and she doesn't know how to tell her grandmother that it's the last thing she wants to talk about. "You got into Stanford?"

She looks up and struggles a smile. "Early admission. Full ride and scholarship. They want my decision by September."

Her grandmother keeps staring at her and Santana doesn't know if it's shock of if she's going to cry but her eyes never waver. They reveal nothing and stare at Santana blankly until she's tempted to ask if she's okay, if something's wrong.

When her grandmother speaks, she's shocked by her words.

"But..." her grandmother says and her voice is confused and curious at the same time. It's strong in a way that makes Santana feel stupid. "I thought you wanted to go to Miami."

She splutters a little at the reminder and a sudden, unexpected wave of disappointment rushes through her body. Her eyes remain locked to her grandmother's and she doesn't know what she's meant to say. She drags her hands into her lap and plays with her fingernails, mouth opening as she searches for an explanation.

"I..." she starts but then she shakes her head because she knows there's no explanation she could give her grandmother that would properly explain herself. She thinks of their conversation all those months ago and doesn't think there's anything she could say that her grandmother would believe. Instead, she tries for the truth. "I didn't apply," she admits softly. "I had the application form and it was filled out and then dad came home and said that he'd got a meeting with one of the guys on the admissions board at Stanford and I didn't see the point." She shrugs her shoulders. "It's where they expect me to go and I can't disappoint them. Especially not when I'm..."

She trails off before she says anything else. Her grandmother understands her though, and her mouth pulls itself into a thin line, her lips almost disappearing with how tight it is. Something like anger flickers in her eyes and she nods in understanding, reaching out for one of Santana's hands which she gives immediately.

It takes a few moments but then her grandmother turns to her and reaches to kiss her palm.

"I'm proud of you," she whispers, but she doesn't really sound proud at all. If anything, she just feels small and scared.

/

Quinn is exactly where she left her when she gets back to the hotel later that evening, her hair crazy on the pillow as she rests all her limbs on extra ones she must have ordered from room service. Santana snorts at her in her little habitat and kicks off her Chucks as she unfastens the buckles on her overalls and heads for the bathroom.

"You're back earlier than I thought you'd be," Quinn says when Santana comes back into the room twenty minutes later wearing a towel.

She sits down on the unoccupied side of the bed and starts toweling herself dry.

"The nurses kicked me out and told me to get some rest. Did you find any clothes in that bag Rachel gave us?" she asks quietly and sees Quinn turn to her out of the corner of her eye before shaking her head and turning back to the TV. "Shit," she whispers as she pulls her underwear up her legs. "Then I need to go shopping tomorrow... some of the nurses put a list together for me of all the things I should take with me when I go in tomorrow night."

She pulls her t-shirt over her head, forgoing her bra and tossing it until it lands with her overalls. She groans and shuffles back against the pillows where Quinn is looking at her curiously.

"What?" she says reaching over for her contact container where she left on the bedside that morning. "What's wrong?"

"The nurses like you," Quinn states a moment later as Santana starts to remove her contacts, grimacing as soon as her fingers get close to her eyes. Quinn snorts as she goes a little cross-eyed when the first one is removed. Santana ignores her. She fucking hates these things. They both remain in tense silence as Santana removes the second contact, slipping it back into the case. "You're ridiculous," Quinn comments idly. "Anyway, as I was saying, the nurses love you."

"Yeah, and?"

"It's weird because they all look at you like they've known you your whole life," she explains carefully. "Like, you know when old family friends pinch your cheeks at reunions and stuff..." Santana narrows her eyes, not sure what the hell Quinn is talking about. "Well, everyone in that hospital looks at you like you're the cutest thing there."

Santana scoffs and shakes her head, slipping her contact case back onto the nightstand and grabbing her glasses sitting there idly on the wood. She's really effing glad she remembered to bring them because she was _not _ready for all this constant crying shit.

"Well, everyone in this hospital knows who my grandma is, you know?" she shrugs it off, cleaning her glasses on the edge of her shirt. "She did her training to be a nurse in Miami in 1961 when she came here from Cuba and like... I don't know. I can remember being a kid and always being in hospitals. My grandparents were weird. They were always moving from the Keys to Miami depending on where they were needed most. My abuela lost most of her family when she moved here so, like, the nurses and doctors are like her family. They're all looking out for each other."

Quinn shrugs and nods. "I wasn't saying anything was wrong with it," she says softly. "I'm just saying that, I don't know, it feels like they're putting a lot of pressure on you to do this and for it to work."

"It will work," Santana says determinedly.

Quinn nods frantically. "Yeah, of course," she says, moving to rest her hand on Santana's bare thigh. "Of course it will," she agrees. "It's just... That pressure can't be easy. It's okay if you don't want to do it or if you want them to slow down a little. It's... it's a big thing."

She listens and she understands what Quinn's saying. She'd be lying if she said that it hadn't felt like her head was underwater for the past two days, if she wasn't sure if she was coming or going. She taps the frames of her glasses against her knees and takes a deep breath.

"It's wrong that everyone keeps rushing you and putting pressure on you," Quinn whispers. "Sometimes people need to do things at their own pace."

Santana feels her heart swell in her chest. She wants to hug Quinn but there's also the fact that she isn't the only delicate one here. She wouldn't ever want to push Quinn's boundaries, not after what she's been through. But she's also aware that people _have _to rush her. They're rushing her because it's their job and they want to save her grandmother's life.

What kind of person would she be if she didn't want that too?

"I think the pressure is needed this time," she says softly and Quinn just breathes out as she quietly slips her glasses up her nose, wishing she could hide behind them.

/

"So, you're staying?" Santana says as Quinn holds up different pairs of underwear. She can hear screaming in the background of the conversation but she ignores it because there's too much going on already. "Is this Rachel's idea?"

"_No,_" Artie says and he sounds awkward and nervous like he did when he arrived on her doorstep that day. "_It's... we figured we should start being more unified as a group, you know? That we should stop thinking about ourselves and start looking out for each other and that means not leaving anyone behind_."

Santana smirks at little as Quinn holds up a white pair of cotton briefs and a light blue pair. She pushes her hands away, reaching for the red pair and the black pair beside them. Quinn tries to wrestle them from her with her one partially good hand and fails abysmally.

"Do you want to go to the hospital and everyone to think you're a whore?" she mutters so that Artie can't hear her. Santana wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into her side as her cheeks go pink.

"It's really okay if you guys go, though," she explains softly. "I mean, I don't even know how long all this will take, so..." she shrugs. "You guys should go."

"_No,_" Artie says again. "_We had a vote and we're not leaving without you guys_." The line goes quiet and Santana takes a deep breath in, watching where Quinn flicks her eyes at the sexy underwear, the ones that Santana knows she wouldn't ever dare own. "_Is she okay?_"Artie asks suddenly and it catches her off-guard. She coughs to clear her head.

"She's fine," she says softly. "They gave her stitches and she had to get some fluids but that's it, really." Quinn's fingers stroke over soft white lace and Santana wonders what she's thinking, who she's thinking about. "One of the doctors got her an appointment with an emergency counselor later and then I think they're going to talk to her mom about it."

"_Do you think she'll get better?_"

"I think there's a good chance," she says, coming up behind Quinn and lifting up her shirt until she can get to the back of her bra. She squeaks but then she instantly stops when she realizes that Santana's still on the phone. "I think that it'll definitely help if she stops fighting and deals with what's happening."

Artie makes noises of agreement on the other end of the line as Santana searches for the tag to Quinn's bra. Quinn just stands there with her face in her hands as Santana then moves to reach beneath her sweats to find her underwear. She giggles and dips down to see what the tag says before reaching past Quinn and finding both sizes in the matching set she was just looking at.

"Listen," Santana says, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice as Quinn turns and starts grabbing for her. Santana just skips back and keeps gathering more and more of the sexy underwear sets in Quinn's sizes into her arms. "I have to go, Artie. Give my love to everyone and tell them to behave themselves." She shrieks and barely hears Artie's confused goodbye as she clicks off the call.

"You're an ass," Quinn says as she lunges for her but she's smiling and blushing and there's a lightness to her that Santana feels better because of. "You're like... really gay."

Santana giggles and lets Quinn take the underwear from her arms. "You love it, Fabray," she giggles, trying to breathe a little bit better.

She watches Quinn put the sexy lingerie back, until she's left with only the underwear that they'd picked out before. Santana scoffs.

"Oh, come _on_, I've got a roll of twenties in my pocket and a current incapacity to judge. Why don't you at least get something a little bit sexy?" Quinn rolls her eyes in Santana's general direction. "It doesn't even have to be black... or red. There's a nice pretty blue set here."

She follows after her pointing out all the nice, tame, virginal sexy lingerie before Quinn snaps and turns to her. "I don't need sexy underwear, Santana," she says softly. "What would I use sexy lace underwear for? I don't have anyone."

Santana snorts and shakes her head. Her eyes narrow and she breathes out. "For _you_, Quinn," she says with a shrug. "You would use them for you."

Quinn looks at her for a while as though considering her words before quietly walking away. Santana watches her, walking around the store as she picks out her own underwear, and notices how she looks down at herself before reverently touching the items.

When she finally joins Santana at the counter, and Santana sees lace peeking through the cotton, it's a small yet satisfying triumph. She bumps their hips together and laughs at her kindly.

"You'll see," she says quietly when Quinn blushes. "They'll make you feel better."

/

They get to the hospital, dressed in new clean clothes and underwear, to find that her grandmother's been moved from the intensive care unit to the transplant unit in another part of the medical center.

It's quieter and a lot fancier than the intensive care ward. It's emptier too, but she didn't think it'd be any different. She knows, from the literature and from what she's heard from doctors, that being able to find a bone marrow donor is uncommon.

Being there is less scary but not, too. It's less scary because intensive care units are full of death and people struggling to stay alive and it's nice to have that not hanging over her head so heavily anymore. It's still scary because this is it. This is the ward where she'll save her grandmother's life, where she'll receive the stuff that Santana really gave her in the first place.

"If I may say so, Miss. Lopez, you look a lot healthier today," Dr. Burns says as she finds herself a seat at the end of her grandmother's bed and leans over to kiss her on the cheek hello. "Sleep well?"

"Slept well, eat well, showered and clean-clothed—"

"—which is a good thing because I didn't think you owned anything other than those ridiculous overalls," her grandmother interjects.

Santana rolls her eyes and smirks. "But, yes, Dr. Burns, I'm very good today."

"Good to know," he says and she's kinda gotten used to his enthusiasm. She guesses he must need it dealing with people who're dying all day. "And I'm glad you're here because I was just saying to your grandmother that I wanted to properly explain the procedure to you."

She's too busy burying around in the bottom of the brand new purse she bought herself to realize what he's saying. She jumps up when her grandmother slaps her arm and looks around.

"I was just saying, I wanted to properly explain the procedure to you today to prepare you for tomorrow."

She frowns. "What's to know? General anesthesia, laid on my front, giant needle put in my hipbones in up to six different places and about ten percent of my bone marrow sucked into syringes and then filtered so Abuela can have it."

The doctor just stares at her and her abuela fondly rests a hand over her leg. "I told you," she says, smiling at the nurse who giggles at his shock. "She's going to be a doctor this one." She pats Santana's leg softly. "Already been accepted into Stanford, haven't you, Cookie?"

Dr. Burns and the nurse both raise their brow. She nods and laughs awkwardly.

/

It scares her how quickly the day goes by, how quickly she goes from waking up to being sat on an examination table waiting to have her last tests done before her surgery in the morning. She worries her hands together, cracking her knuckles and picking at her cuticles as she waits to be seen by the doctor.

"I hate hospital gowns," she breathes as Quinn sits in the corner reading the old, worn out copies of _Cosmo_ and the_ Ladies' Home Journal_ that they keep in waiting rooms.

Quinn hums. "They stop scratching after a while. The ones here are actually okay."

Santana nods, glad for the conversation. "I remember the first time I wore one when I got my—my..." she gestures vaguely to her chest. "It was so weird how they just like... gape at the back. Intrusive, almost. I don't know."

Quinn looks at her, her face slowly descending into something akin to concern. She looks around the room. "I can go ask a nurse for another one we can put around your back if you want."

Santana shakes her head and she doesn't know what's wrong with her. She tries to crack her knuckles again but it doesn't work, the bones just move, and she forces herself to think about the bone marrow running through her body and how, by tomorrow, it'll be running through her grandmother instead. It calms her a little but it makes her feel guilty too.

"I don't even know why I got them," she says breathlessly, her voice hitching. "I honestly don't. I thought it was because I wanted people to notice me more but I think that it was because I didn't want people to notice that there was something missing from me. That something wasn't right." She gasps and is surprised when she feels the tears rolling down her cheeks. She's really fucking regretting putting those damn contacts in this morning. "I just—I just..." she trails off and shakes her head. "I changed my body and my body is completely healthy," she whispers. "My body is perfect and I changed it because I was so scared about what was on the inside."

Quinn moves to sit beside her. She strokes Santana's hair back from her cheeks and hushes her quietly. "It doesn't matter anymore," she whispers, wrapping an arm around her back. "It doesn't matter."

Santana shakes her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist. Quinn doesn't say anything but lets her cry for a moment until she stops just minutes later.

"I'm just really overwhelmed," she admits in a whisper.

Quinn just nods and doesn't say anything. She remains by Santana's side as the doctor traces her heart and take an x-ray of her lungs and Santana realizes how glad she is that her best friend is here.

/

The doctor gives her the all clear and instructs her not to eat or drink after midnight. She doesn't mind so much but when Uncle Frank meets them, saying he guessed that she'd need a dinner that'd last, and carrying a bag from one of the best burger joints in town, she doesn't argue. He walks them to her grandmother's room on the other side of the hospital and Santana's glad for the air to clear her head. She walks alongside them in silence, not listening to them as they discuss the plan for the morning.

Her grandmother's awake when they get to her room and Santana narrows her eyes at the box that now sits on the floor beside the chair in the corner.

"How did the tests go?" her grandmother asks. She peers into the bag of food that Frank thuds down onto the tray table as he helps Santana pull her chair closer to the bed. "Did you get _me_ anything?" she demands.

Frank just looks at her incredulously. "I don't know, Elena," he says. "I got one of everything because I didn't know what everyone wanted. If that's not good enough it's not my problem. You'll just have to fight over it."

"Calling the bacon double cheeseburger," Santana says as she takes it from the bag her grandmother and Frank are gripping between them. "Y'all can do whatever you want after that."

They argue and they fight and then the nurse tells her grandmother that she can't eat the chili cheese fries because they might upset her stomach. It's hilarious and completely out of sync with everything else going on. It could almost be like they're sitting around the table back in the Keys if it weren't for the constant reminders that they're in a hospital and that, in just a few hours, she won't be a visitor but a patient. It makes it harder to relax and, as her grandmother slowly slips on a pink lemonade and Quinn finishes the last of the fries, she suddenly remembers something she forgot to ask earlier.

"Have you heard from Mom and Dad?" she asks quietly, interrupting the episode of _Jeopardy!_ they'd been watching. "I haven't been able to get through to them since I got here."

She swirls her straw around her now melted chocolate milkshake and looks up to catch Uncle Frank staring pointedly at her grandmother. It makes her frown and she catches Quinn looking at them curiously too. Her face falls when she sees Santana watching them and her back straightens like she's bracing herself.

Uncle Frank doesn't say anything, but he looks up at the clock instead and shakes his head disapprovingly. Santana watches confused as he suddenly stands up and begins clearing away the trash from dinner without a word.

"What are you doing?" she asks softly.

He glances at her sharply. "Quinn and I should be getting back to the hotel," he says as he forces himself to soften. He smiles but it looks forced. "We've got an early start tomorrow and we all need to get enough rest."

She frowns, nerves instantly beginning to bubble in her gut. "Okay," she says softly and stands to say goodbye to Quinn. "Are you sure? I mean, don't you have time to watch another episode or something..."

Frank glances at her grandmother. Santana catches her staring back at him this time.

"No," he says quietly. "No, you've got to be up at five am and you need rest. We'll be here by six, okay?"

"Okay," she whispers and before she knows it, he's gone taking Quinn with him.

/

They sit in silence until Santana laughs awkwardly, desperate to break the sudden tension.

"What the heck is his problem?" she asks as she tries to act nonchalant. Her eyes narrow as her grandmother doesn't quite smile and just looks at her sadly. She swallows. "I mean, he was kind of abrupt."

Her grandmother nods.

"Be patient with him," she tells her softly. "He's got a lot to deal with right now."

"Yeah, but..." Santana starts, an insatiable need for more information tugging her down and making her feel like she weighs a thousand pounds. "A lot of us are and you don't see us being complete assholes about it."

The room is so quiet she can hear the deep breath her grandmother takes over the sound of everything else. Santana watches as her jaw clenches, as she reaches for the nearby remote and silently clicks off the TV. Her eyes are darker, more scared, and the sparkle usually held in them is concealed by something that desperately tries to extinguish it all together.

"Why are you doing this?" her grandmother asks suddenly. "Why do you want to do this for me so badly?"

Santana looks at her incredulously. She wonders why they're still on this subject, why it _still _hasn'tgot through to her grandmother that Santana can't let her die. Not now. Not when she can save her. She has no words in her that can carry the sentiment without repeating herself, so she just looks at her and tries to convey what words so obviously can't.

She's glad that, when her grandmother takes in the sight of her, she appears to look like she understands. Her face drops a little with recognition, her eyes shrinking with realization. She soaks in Santana's expression for a while before she starts shaking her head, letting out a low, irritated growl as she looks away.

When her eyes suddenly snap back to Santana, they're so bright and clear they startle her.

"There are some things you have to see," her grandmother tells her carefully. Santana lets her brow furrow as her grandmother gestures for her to get up, to move closer. Santana does at she's told, too scared not to. "There are some things you need to know before anything can move on from here. There are things that you need to be aware of and I need you to get me that box so that I can be the person to tell you."

Her finger points to the same box that Santana had noticed when she came in. It's hard not to when it's so large and over-stuffed that it doesn't even close. Santana narrows her eyes again, deeper this time as she gets off the chair and moves across the room towards it. There's an almost fear suddenly settled deep within her and she almost doesn't want to do as her grandmother tells her. She only does for fear of what might happen if she refuses.

It's heavier than she thought it would be when she leans down to pick up the box. She struggles to get it off the floor, shifting it up her body until she can waddle it across the room, to where her grandmother instructs her to rest it on the tray table in front of her. Santana hefts it on there with difficultly, groaning once it's finally out of her arms.

"Now what?" she breathes as her grandmother sits herself up a little higher to see inside.

She shuffles almost excitedly from side to side on the bed and pats her thighs gently. "Pass me everything from inside of it," she says, more softly this time, and, with the permission, Santana parts the opening to reach inside.

Her curiosity grows the second her hands are inside but her discomfort does too. She's somewhat relieved when all she finds is photo albums, picture frames and loose photographs kept inside smaller inner boxes. She passes them to her grandmother steadily and watches as she begins to sort them around her on the bed. Santana can see pictures of her grandfather and of her father when he was a baby, all the way up until he was eighteen and he left for Stanford. He was such a dorky looking kid and he looked so much like her grandfather. She doesn't know why she never realized that before.

There are pictures of Uncle Frank, too. Most of them are of him standing in front of the bar over the decades, smiling at his pride and joy. There's even some of him when he was a lot younger, of another man standing outside the bar beside him and Santana knows that it's his father. She only knows that because of photographs just like this one. There's one just like it hanging up behind the bar with a bottle of tequila always nearby it. His name was Paco. Santana met him but she doesn't remember it. She was a toddler when he died but she knows his legacy. Everyone loved him because he was so ridiculous.

"What is all this?" she says as she passes her grandmother a shoebox of photographs that she instantly tucks right in beside her, keeping it as close as possible. "What do you need all these photographs for?"

Her grandmother waves a hand at her to silence her and tells her to keep going. Santana does as she's told and does it silently. Her grandmother's face hardens with ruthless determination.

"Memories," she starts. "become frayed over time. Sometimes a day can feel like a week while it's happening but, when you look back at it, you can barely remember any of it at all." She pauses and sighs to herself. "At some point in my life I realized I was tired of letting days go by without have a reminder of what happened in them—especially when they were good days—so, somewhere along the line, I started taking pictures." Santana looks at her as she reaches in to retrieve the last item in the box. "Now they're the only way I can really remember anything."

Santana goes to speak but she stops as she lifts the last item. It's a flatter, longer box than all the others and almost fits completely in the bottom of the box. She readies herself to heft it out but is shocked when it barely weighs anything at all. She can hold it with one hand as she moves the now empty box onto the floor at the end of the bed. She puts it on the table and narrows her eyes at it curiously.

"You can open that," her grandmother says, still sorting through her photographs. Santana pries her fingers beneath the lid of it and lifts it gently when her grandmother swats at her to be careful.

She doesn't know what she was expecting but she knows that it wasn't what she finds. Her hands unfold the tissue paper away from the contents as gently as they can and she darts a look up at her grandmother, just to make sure she's seeing correctly.

It's a dress. It's black, made from chiffon and silk, and her hands stroke over the fabric expecting it to be itchy and uncomfortable. She's shocked, however, when her fingers flutter over it and it's one of the softest things she's ever felt. She releases a puff of a laugh and looks up at her grandmother to see her expression.

"It would look beautiful on you." her grandmother breathes and Santana can't tell if it's because of her chest or because she's overwhelmed. "Someone should get some use out of that thing. It's only been worn once."

Santana snorts and can't stop herself from lifting it out of the box and holding it against herself. She grimaces around a smile and can't deny that it's beautiful. It's just not something that she would choose for herself. Someone with a timeless elegance like Quinn, or an undeniable beauty like Brittany, could wear a dress like this, but she never could. It's the kind of dress that she would wear and feel like a complete fraud.

"It's not really me," she says.

"I wouldn't be so sure." Her abuela clicks her tongue. "I didn't think it was very me either but that dress is lucky." Santana smiles and raises her eyebrows questioningly. Her grandmother nods adamantly. "It is," she promises. "I fell in love for the first time in that dress."

Santana smiles widely at that. "Yeah?"

Her grandmother nods and her fingers reach out to brush over the fabric reverently. "I did," she whispers. "In Havana, in 1958."

Santana pauses and narrows her eyes. She racks through her brain because of the unsettling feeling of inaccuracy seeping into her bones and competing with the confusion that feels like it's been there for days. It's beginning to feel like a permanent state of being and her voice wavers as she speaks.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "You mean Miami," she nods. "You mean Miami in 1961, not Havana in 1958. Miami in 1961 because that's where you met Abuelo, right? In Miami? At a diner?"

Her grandmother smiles again and then she reaches over, patting the edge of the bed so that Santana drops down into the chair beside it. She takes the dress from Santana's hands and lays it over her legs, her fingers tracing the fabric.

"No," she says quietly. "No, I don't. I mean Havana in 1958 because it wasn't with your grandfather."

Santana's stomach drops and she takes several gulps of air to loosen her suddenly dry throat. She coughs awkwardly as she refuses to look away from her grandmother and her grandmother refuses to do the same. Assurance resonates from her eyes and Santana hates it because she doesn't want to ask but she knows she has to. She _has _to because, at this moment, she knows that these are the things that will finally make everything else make sense.

"Then who—who was it?"

Her grandmother pauses and she takes in another breath. Her smile grows as she does and it's a smile so great and beautiful that it makes things ache inside of Santana. It makes puzzle pieces slip into place as her grandmother smiles so wide, her happiness so genuine that she looks full. Her eyes are bright and wide and it's jarring how young and alive she so suddenly looks.

Santana's hands find each other in her lap and she waits impatiently for her grandmother to continue.

It feels like she's bracing herself to be hit by something unstoppable.

"Libby," her grandmother says clearly after a few moments. Her smile only grows until Santana barely recognizes it.

"Her name was Elizabeth Ballet."

/


	15. Part 11b

**This is the second section of part 11. Warning. It's pretty tough going.**

* * *

><p>Santana stares at her grandmother and doesn't know what to say. She's so sure she must have heard her incorrectly that she's struck dumb. She's sure that she must be being really fucking dense and missed something really obvious because she doesn't understand. She's sure that if her grandmother doesn't explain soon she's not going to be able to start breathing again because what she heard doesn't make any sense.<p>

"What?" she barely manages a second later.

Her grandmother softens and it makes Santana feel worse.

"Libby," she repeats and Santana becomes incredibly aware that she's looking in her grandmother's direction but she's not actually looking at her. She's looking through her because she feels like the woman she knows isn't staring back at her. She's fading and the person looking back at her can't give her the comfort she needs. "Elizabeth," she goes on once more. "Here," she says and she reaches into the shoe box tucked closely into her side, ruffling through it. "Here's a picture of her."

She offers it to Santana but she doesn't take it.

She's pretty sure that she's already seen her.

"Is that the woman..." she starts and the words trail off because they feel so awkward and foreign in her mouth. "Is that the woman that was in the photograph in the bag of weed?" she asks.

Her grandmother takes in a deep breath. Her face falters and Santana wonders if she was supposed to remember that. She wonders if her grandmother will lie to her.

"Yes," she says and Santana nods.

"She was pretty," she comments and then wipes her cheeks ready for the tears that'll come eventually. "And that was in... 1958?"

"That photograph? That was... 1961."

Santana's eyes widen and she feels her breath choke from her. She gasps for it back, feels cheated by it being stolen from her. Her grandmother reaches for her and grasps for a hand that Santana instantly snatches back.

"Please," her grandmother whispers. "Please just let me explain this to you and then you can do and say whatever you want. Whatever you want, Cookie. But I need to explain this to you."

Santana nods because she doesn't know what else she should do other than try to breathe.

"I worked for her father."

Santana looks up and sees the woman in front of her properly for the first time. She looks terrified in a way that her grandmother never would. She looks small and fragile and afraid. She wonders who she is. She listens, hoping she'll find out, and brings her knees up to her chest afraid she'll finally unravel if she doesn't.

"He was called Albert Ballet and he was a businessman from Louisiana," her grandmother goes on. "He moved to Havana in 1957 because he was buying one hotel and building another. I worked in a different hotel across the street from Mr. Ballet's and, when I heard he was looking for new staff, I went across there after work one day and I got myself a job." She shrugs. "Americans paid more money and my family was poor, you see? My father was a drunk and he and my older brothers couldn't hold down a job. It was just me and mi mamá who were working and I thought it would help. I got the job because I wanted to help my family."

Santana nods softly so that her grandmother knows she's listening.

"I was excited to work there because it was luxurious. I was only seventeen and it was exciting to work somewhere where the paint wasn't peeling off the walls," she tries to laugh but Santana doesn't copy her. "I was going to be a day maid but when Mr. Ballet realized how well I spoke English he made me the family maid upstairs in the penthouse. And who was I to refuse? It was more money and easier work." She explains carefully like she would when Santana was a child. "Mrs. Ballet was an important member of the community of Americans who were in Cuba. She spent most of the day visiting people and places, so she was never at home and she took her other daughter Martha with her while Mr. Ballet, her younger son, Wally, and Martha's husband were working at the new hotel, so it was just Libby and me a lot of the time."

Her grandmother clears her throat. Santana looks at her out of the corner of her eye.

"I could tell that she wasn't like them from the minute I met her," her grandmother whispers. "She refused to be like them and demanded her father find her a tutor so she could catch up with her studies. Her family was what they called 'old money' and they wanted her to get married but she had no interests in courting and socializing. She wanted to read and learn languages." She pauses before laughing a little. "I didn't even know how to read properly so I thought it was _wonderful_. She never spoke to me except to ask me for things, but when she did she had the most beautiful accent. I would replay it in my head over and over. I wondered what it would be like to be her. Her family was so rich and kind to everyone. My father was always threatening to beat my mother and he and my brothers were determined to join in with the Cuban Revolution. It was awful. My mother warned me not to tell them about my new job, so I hid myself and my wages away in my room away from them. I didn't understand why I was doing it for a long time but I didn't mind. I just spent my time thinking what it must be like to be Libby."

Santana shifts, her interest slowly growing more and more. Her breathing starts to soften a little but she finds she still can't look at her grandmother without wanting to cry. She jumps when her grandmother hands her a photograph.

"That was the hotel," she says and Santana takes it and looks at it. It looks extravagant and elegant with white shutters on all the windows. Santana can almost feel how warm it is there just from the black and white photograph and understands her grandmother's excitement. She takes the second picture handed to her. It's an old, worn piece of newspaper. "That was the Ballets. They were put on the front of the newspaper when they moved in and ripped it out."

Santana gazes her eyes over the family, from the aging man in the back of the photograph to his much younger wife sitting in front of him. Three young men stand around them, as two other women sit either side of their mother. Santana recognizes the younger as the same woman in the picture in the weed and quickly hands it back.

"I liked being their maid," her grandmother admits. "It was obvious Libby didn't like Cuba but she did her best. We had an understanding at first. We hardly spoke to each other but it worked. I could feel her watching me sometimes and it was strange. I wanted to be her friend but I had always been taught never to treat Americans as friends. But she was different from anyone else I'd ever met from the minute I saw her. I could tell that she was concerned for me when her mother asked me to work from the crack of dawn to past sunset with no rest. I could feel her watching me when I would stop and take a moment to catch my breath. I should have said something but I didn't. I wasn't sleeping and there would be no food when I got home." She pauses to think. "I was working one day and I collapsed like the world was taken from beneath me. I was on the couch when I came around and there was a record playing that I recognized. I started singing along to it and was so embarrassed when Libby laughed at me. I didn't realize she was there so I jumped up ready to carry on with my chores but she stopped me and told me she'd already done them. She forced me to eat instead. It was the most she'd ever said to me and it was like a dam had been broken. Once she started talking to me she didn't stop. Whenever her mother would leave, she would be beside me, talking to me."

She hands Santana another photograph with a laugh and Santana almost smiles at it. It's of her grandmother, probably no older than she is now, rolling her eyes at the camera shyly as she does her chores. Santana holds onto it a little longer this time, running her fingers over her grandmother's face to stem her impatience.

"She would come with me to get groceries and would wander off when I wasn't looking and get lost. It used to terrify me. In the end I would say to her. 'Miss Elizabeth, don't go too far,' and then she realized how panicked I was and would smile at me and say 'I'll wait for you'. After that, she was always in the same place I'd left her, just staring around." Her grandmother smiles at the memory but Santana doesn't know how to, she doesn't understand it yet. "She was so kind to me and she didn't have to be. It's how I knew she was different. Her mother didn't even see me but Libby told them off. She even told them I wasn't being paid enough for the work I did and the next week my salary was double what it had been the week before. It made no difference to me. I liked having Libby as my friend. It was enough for me. She would play rock and roll records when her parents weren't home and would let me sing along to them. She even let me sit in on her tutoring sessions and taught me to read better." She shrugs it away. "She wasn't even unkind about it. It was just like she was sharing a gift. She never made me feel like I didn't deserve anything she gave me."

Santana takes a deep breath as things start tugging at her heart and making her eyes prickle with tears. She tucks her knees up closer to her chest and rests her chin on them, aware of how her hands shake with the rush.

"And we would talk about everything too," her grandmother says. "From what was happening with the revolution, and my brothers wanting to join, to the books she would give me to read. She never denied me anything and I wished so badly I could do the same for her. Her father wanted her to marry instead of going to college but all she wanted to do was escape. I could understand that. I wanted to do that too."

Santana takes an unsteady breath of understanding and hides the tremble of her lip against her thigh.

"When she found out that my eighteenth birthday was soon, she somehow convinced her mother to let me go to one of the fancy parties the Americans held. I used some of my wages to buy this dress." She runs her hands over the fabric laid across her legs. "It was expensive but it was worth it. I was so scared I would make a fool out of Libby. The night was going so well until some of the American girls started being rude and asking me questions about how poor I was. I excused myself as politely as I could and left, knowing how ungrateful I would look by doing it. It was better than shouting at them in a language they could hardly understand, though. I didn't think Libby would follow me but she caught up to me and apologized so profusely, like it was her fault..."

Her grandmother trails off and Santana finally catches her eye as she turns to see what the pause is for. Her grandmother looks away from her shyly.

"Libby asked me to walk around Havana, so we did..." She hands Santana another picture. Santana looks at it to find a picture of her grandmother wearing the same dress in front of them, looking more beautiful than anyone else she's ever seen as she wanders down a dark Cuban side-street. There's a part of Santana that just wants to tuck the picture away and keep it for herself so she can show it off with pride.

"She took my picture and still kept apologizing. She told me it wasn't fair that those girls asked me the things I did because I looked more beautiful than any of them." Santana looks up as her grandmother stares down at the photographs in her hands. "No one had ever called me beautiful before. Not my parents or any of the few boys who'd taken me out. It made my heart flip over in my chest. I can remember looking at Libby and feeling so... confused by everything. It felt like there was something growing inside of me and I didn't know what it was. I remember how close she felt and... how warm her mouth was when she kissed me the very first time." Santana doesn't dare look at her, too scared of what she'll see and how hard she's going to cry. "I remember how scared I felt and how hurt she looked when I pushed her away."

Santana chokes back a sob and nods her head in understanding.

"I was going to quit my job but I knew I couldn't," she shrugs. "I didn't want to. So I just ignored all the feelings I had inside of me and pretended like nothing had happened. I just did my chores and it was easy because Mrs. Ballet and Libby's sister were home a lot more. I concentrated on everything but her but, somehow, I think, she was still the only thing on my mind."

Her grandmother lapses into silence and Santana can feel her watching. She sniffs and turns to her.

"What happened?" she asks softly, lit by her grandmother's instant smile.

"A few months later, her family went away to a friend's home outside of the city and Libby stayed behind," she explains. "Her parents asked me to stay with her and I avoided how awkward things were the minute they were gone." She laughs suddenly. "I think we made it two hours before I'd finished a weeks' worth of chores. Libby saw me looking so lost and said I could stop, that she wanted us to be friends again. It was almost like the kiss had never happened and, for a minute, I thought maybe it hadn't, so I asked her. I asked her why she kissed me and she said it was because she thought it was what I wanted."

Her grandmother's smile falters. "It's strange," she mutters. "That sometimes you don't know what you want until someone tells you. I didn't realize how much I wanted her until she made me notice and then within a second I was kissing her and I wasn't stopping and my hands were on her and..."

She trails off when Santana winces and shakes her head.

"Sorry," she apologizes softly. "I just... we got carried away and she was gone when I woke up on the couch. I fixed my clothes and found her on the balcony smoking one of her mother's cigarettes. She didn't say anything just walked away from me and stayed away until it was time for bed and even then she wouldn't let me help her. I barely slept for thinking about what might happen and woke up to her playing records. I pretended like nothing had happened and brought her breakfast like normal. I couldn't believe it when she stepped up behind me and told me that she didn't understand any of it, just that she wanted me. I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything; I just let her undress me. I just let her make love to me."

Santana feels the tears on her cheeks and sniffs them away. She looks over at the lilies that sit in the corner and notices that they're fresh ones.

"We spent months like that, talking and making love when no one was looking and just..." she doesn't say anything else but Santana doesn't need her too. She knows. She _knows_. "It was okay until a man came to take her for lunch one day. I got jealous. I ignored her when she came to me and tried to explain. She had to kiss me to make me understand and it was exhilarating. Her mother was just feet away and it was then that I realized how far things were. I felt like I was slipping and falling and there was nothing beneath me to catch me. It was so reckless and it would have ruined everything if anyone had found out. But I didn't want her to be with anyone but me and that's what I told her, even though we both knew her father was set on her marrying someone. He told her that she had to marry or find something worthwhile to study or he would cut her off. But she wanted to be a nurse and he wouldn't let her do that.

"She took me to a hotel at Christmas time on the other side of the city and gave me a camera that I had to hide the minute I went home. She asked me what she should be, what _I _wanted to be, and told me off when I said I didn't know. I told her that I just wanted to be with her and it was the most honest and stupid thing I've ever said. I told her I loved her and she told me she loved me too." Santana looks up when her grandmother's voice breaks. "It was the most wonderful and terrifying thing I've ever heard. I was so happy and afraid about us that I didn't realize how bad things had become around us with the revolution and my family, not until my mother made me promise to take my brother and get out of Cuba if I needed to. I'd been listening to Libby who said that nothing would happen. I didn't think that she was just as scared and in denial as I was. It was naïve of me."

Santana's brow furrows with the rush of questions that enters her brain. She holds off and looks at her grandmother, impatiently patient as she waits for her to continue.

"Mr. Ballet told me that my services were no longer required on New Year's Day 1959. I was there when they discovered that Batista had fled the country and he'd sent me home before their New Year's party was even over. When I came to work the next morning, he excused me and gave me one thousand dollars for letting me go at such short notice. I wanted to ask him if I could see Libby but I knew she wasn't there, so I let him send me away. I didn't know what was going to happen."

"But what did happen?" Santana asks, unable to stop herself. Her Cuban history is not something she's all that brushed up on. All she knows is that a lot of Cuban people had to get the heck out of there after the revolution happened.

"She found my mother and gave her a message asking me to meet her," her grandmother smiles. "I did and she explained that her father was making them leave because Martha was pregnant and it was too dangerous to stay. She gave me a time to meet her the next day because she was going to try and get me out too." She sighs and gives Santana a look that makes her know that it didn't work that way. "My father found out about us. He'd made my brother follow me when I went to meet her and beat the information from him. He locked me in my room and when I didn't show, Libby found my house and demanded to talk to me. I screamed for her but my father, the idiot that he was, held a gun to her head and said he'd kill her without a thought if she didn't leave. I begged her to go because I knew my father was stupid enough to do it. I told her I'd be okay and she promised me she'd get me out."

"Did she?"

Her grandmother gives her a watery smile and Santana watches her as she takes several soothing breaths to calm herself.

"My father locked me away for months," she explains. "Then he made me work wherever I could and demanded I give him everything I earned. It was a year before I started to give up hope. An entire year without her and I started to believe that she'd forgotten about me. I had no idea that Americans were no longer welcome in Cuba. I thought I'd be stuck forever until I overheard there was a boat leaving for America illegally in a few days time. My mother said I should use all the wages I hid and take Alejandro away with me. We were set to go until my father brought home a man and told him he could do whatever he wanted to me."

Santana's eyes widen and she suddenly doesn't know if she wants to hear this. She shakes her head until her grandmother reaches for her, soothing her.

"My mother hit my father with a frying pan and threatened the man," she says quickly. "But we were almost late for the boat and there was only room left for one person. Alejandro told me to leave. He practically threw me on the boat as it was leaving." Her voice chokes. "That day was the last time I saw my family. I went to Miami and I became a US citizen and I found a bus to take me to New Orleans. I had no idea what else to do and I walked around for days until someone led me to the Ballets."

"And?" Santana impatiently asks, her brow furrowing.

"I found her but she was engaged." Santana's jaw drops. Her grandmother shakes her head. "Days before her wedding, I arrived on her doorstep thinking she might still be waiting for me, but she wasn't. I felt betrayed. I practically ran back to Florida thinking I'd just run back to Cuba with my tail between my legs." She pauses coyly and a smirk grows. "I was sobbing over her in a diner when I met your grandfather, you know? He was with Uncle Paco and Frank and he didn't know me but he asked me if I wanted to go to Key West with him when I said I was going back to Cuba. None of them understood why I wanted to go back to Cuba. Paco kept telling me how he'd won a bar in a card game and he had a good feeling about it."

Santana laughs loudly at that. She thinks she knows the story from here. "And then you helped out Uncle Paco with fixing up the bar and Abuelo went back to Miami to be a doctor but then he kept coming back to try and date you."

"Yes," her grandmother nods and hands her a black and white picture of the four of them: her, Abuelo, Paco and a young Uncle Frank all stood outside the bar posing proudly. "People think he was a stern man but... he used to be such a ridiculous fool. He brought me a car and an engagement ring and it took weeks for me to accept. I just couldn't understand why he'd bought me a Cadillac too... until he explained he wanted me to be able to come see him. He was funny and he was my best friend. It's why I wanted to marry him. He didn't want me to do anything for him. He didn't care if I was in Miami or in Key West he just wanted me to be his wife."

"But, you moved to Miami?"

"I wanted to be a nurse." her grandmother admits. "I thought, if Libby couldn't then I would be." Her next laugh is bitter. Santana leans closer to her to listen. "I didn't expect her to be there on my first day, in my first class, sat there on the front row." Santana's pretty sure her jaw is going to stay unhinged soon as it falls open at the revelation. "She said her wedding was off the minute she saw me, that she'd been in Miami looking for me since. Her father had cut her off and she was putting herself through nursing school. It was... a shock, to say the least."

"Did she..."

"Yes, but I told her I was married," her grandmother says, voice matter-of-fact. Then she pauses, her face brooding over as she slowly hangs her head. "I couldn't stop myself, though," she admits shamefully. "I tried but then I dropped her home one day and coffee turned into... terrible things." She waves it off. "But, it doesn't matter now. I prayed for my forgiveness for that a long time ago."

Santana looks at her, her mouth parted in shock and her eyebrows risen reproachfully. She shakes her head and, even though she knows she's going to regret asking, she can't stop herself.

"Abuela," Santana says as softly as she can. "You can't just..." she shakes her head and scoffs. "What _happened_?"

"We had an affair."

Santana waits. Nothing else comes.

"And?" she prompts.

"I ended up pregnant," she tells her. "So I put an end to it. Well... I tried to, but then we made an arrangement."

"An arrangement?"

Her grandmother nods and then she pauses, her breath shaky. "That as soon as your father was born, Libby would leave and we'd never speak to each other again. She wanted to run away together but I couldn't do that. I didn't want to do that. I didn't want your Abuelo to know what I'd done. I didn't want to hurt him. But I wanted Libby for as long as I could too."

There's something about her voice that tells Santana it didn't work out that way. She feels a sudden rush of pain on behalf of her grandfather. "Did he... did he find out?"

"He later told me he'd known for months," she says. "He'd followed me and saw us but he didn't say anything. But he caught us in bed together when he came home from work early. And then I just so happened to go into labor."

"Labor?"

"In the middle of a hurricane," she nods, rolling her eyes. "We called an ambulance but Libby had to deliver your father."

"Wait..." Santana says, the tidal wave of information just a little bit too much. "She... She delivered him?" Santana tries to think about being there, in a room with the woman she loves and the woman's husband and having to do that. It tugs at old wounds she has of the past year and she can't imagine it. It hurts too much. Her grandmother hands her another photograph. It's of her abuelo and her newborn father, wrapped in a towel. "That must have been..."

"Awful," her grandmother breathes and Santana looks up to find tears rolling down her cheeks. "No matter what I chose the guilt was unbearable. I loved her so much but I couldn't... I couldn't deny a man who had fulfilled every promise he'd made me his son." She sobs and it's so unfamiliar for Santana to see that she freezes. "I can still remember her holding me as I had my contractions. She was holding me up because I didn't want to lay down. The pain was so awful and I was swaying to music to keep my mind off of it. It was just so..." Her grandmother chokes out a sob. "Her lips were against my forehead and the song _Can't Help Falling in Love_ came on the radio. I remember her whispering it against my ear and I remember how strong she was even though I was breaking her heart. I can remember it all..." She sobs before laying back against the pillows with a whimper. "I can remember her holding your father as I gave birth to him. I can remember her handing him to your abuelo and whispering congratulations before he left the room. I remember every single minute of her cleaning me up before the ambulance arrived." She covers her eyes with her hand and Santana has no choice but to just sit there and watch. "I can remember how desperately she kissed me before they came up to me and then she was gone... she was gone and I didn't know what I was meant to do."

Santana reaches forward and grabs her grandmother's hand. Her grandmother squeezes her fingers and they sit in silence until something occurs to Santana. She feels terrible mentioning it so quickly but she can't stop herself. Something in her gut is telling her it's important. It's important if any of this is going to make sense.

"I don't understand," she says, confused. "What does this have to do with anything going on right now?" she asks. "Why is this so important? Why does it matter?"

Her grandmother looks at her and the pity in there is so sudden it feels like a stab to the gut. Her grandmother looks to the ceiling to try and contain her sobs and she's barely crying at all when she finally looks back at Santana. She kisses her palm before shaking her head. Santana feels adrenaline burn through her body and she tenses before her grandmother speaks.

"Because," her grandmother whispers. "Your parents told me I _had_ to tell you," she explains quietly. "They said that if I was so insistent on disrupting your life with this transplant then you had to know the truth about me and how I tried to ruin our family."

Santana's face drops and there's a part of her that feels like it couldn't be ripped open anymore but somehow has managed to. It feels like a scab, barely healed, has torn open. For a moment, she wishes that she could just bleed out and be done with it.

Her grandmother sighs. "They said you had to know everything before they'd give their permission for this surgery and if you did, and you still wanted to do this for me, then you could go through with it."

The puzzle pieces inside of her that slip into place suddenly start to feeling razor-edged as they cut her apart. She splutters as she feels everything inside of her churning and mincing as everything she thought she'd known becomes unrecognizable.

"They _knew_?" Santana chokes. Her grandmother holds her hand a little tighter. Santana feels like she might throw up. In fact, that sounds like the least painful thing her body could do right now. She would welcome it. "Did they _know_ you were sick?" she spits and her throat stings with the bile that rises up it.

Her grandmother doesn't say anything but the slow way she blinks back her sadness and disappointment is enough of an answer. Santana tries to push away the paralyzing feeling of betrayal. She tries to ignore how the one thing she's _always_ been afraid of has suddenly become less of a possibility and more of a certainty and, instead, chooses to concentrate on her grandmother. When it comes to her, the only thing that's ever been a certainty has been her unconditional love.

She leans forward to kiss the paper-thin skin of her knuckles and shakes her head, swallowing away the tears.

"Well then," she chokes, even as another of the pillars holding her up begins to crumble. She's not so sure how much longer she'll be able to hold herself up anymore. "We best get you that bone marrow transplant."

Her grandmother's face grows and softens and then her hands reach for her more, pulling her to her steadily. Her face is soon wrapped in her grandmother's hands, her body lumbering forward as her grandmother pulls her up onto the bed until she's wrapped around her with arms holding her close.

It's what she needs and doesn't need at the same time: the reminder of what she has and what she could still lose. She breaks, her body wracking with sobs as she clings to her grandmother, needing her to stay close.

"You can't die," she sobs, burying her face into her grandmother's hospital gown. Her grandmother's hand clutches at the back of her head, keeping her there. "You can't leave me; I need you even more now. You can't. You can't die," she chokes and she's not afraid to beg anymore. "You can't leave me... I don't know what I'll do."

Her grandmother doesn't stop holding her and, as her hands stroke over the same place on her back where they're going to take the thing that will keep her alive, Santana realizes just how scared she really is.

/

* * *

><p>They ask her to leave her grandmother's room a little while later. One of the doctors comes to collect her and takes her up to the kids' ward. They give her a private room and tell her to get some sleep but then they leave her alone, teary-eyed and still confused, to think about everything she just learned.<p>

She doesn't understand or really want to think about any of it but her mind won't listen. She sits on the bed in the dark with her brand new over-night bag sitting beside her and just sobs, unable to stop. The patient wristband feels like a shackle and she stares at it as she tries to remind herself that she's saving a life.

The pressure feels so big now, so overwhelming, and everything's so out of her control that she can't breathe.

She can't sleep.

She can't even understand it.

So she sits there in silence and tries not to think about it, tries to think about everything that isn't making her heart break with sadness.

She ends up thinking about Brittany. About how much she wants her. About how much she needs her. For hours, she thinks about how she wishes she were here to hold her hand or maybe just hold her. She wonders how she is, if she's okay, if she's crying too. She thinks about the possibility that maybe she's smiling and it soothes her for the first time all night.

She misses her smile.

It has the ability to always make her feel like everything's better.

She's not sure she knows what she's doing when she picks up her cell and dials Bobby's number. All she knows is that it's almost six am and this is all she's wanted to do all night.

"Santana?"

She sniffs away a sob and snuggles into the pillow, pulling the itchy hospital sheets up over her head. "Yeah," she whispers.

Bobby groans and she hears him rustling around, his bare feet hitting the floor as he sits up.

"Santana," he whispers. "Santana, it's not even six o'clock in the morning."

She gulps and nods her head, wiping her tears away with her fingertips. "I know," she says, whispering just as quietly. "I know, I just... I wanted to call you before..." She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter right now. I just wanted to call you."

There's a pause and she hears him look around the room, his breath steady and calm. He clears his throat and then she hears him stand up and walk across the room.

"Santana, what's wrong?" he asks quietly and she shakes her head because she shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be doing this because Brittany wanted to leave, she wanted to get away from her. She doesn't deserve anything. "Santana, you're scaring me."

She ignores him and the voice in her head and indulges herself for once. "Is she okay?" she asks quietly.

Bobby sighs. She can almost hear him shaking his head and rubbing at the bridge of his nose like he always did when they'd wake him up too early.

"She's here... she's—she's asleep," he says after a moment. "She slept in here last night."

Santana whimpers at the thought. She feels left out even though she doesn't deserve to.

"But—but is she okay?" she asks, voice hitching dangerously.

Bobby breathes quietly on the phone for a while but then he sighs again. She can hear the telltale sign of him sinking back onto the bed. She feels closer to Brittany because of it.

"She's okay," he whispers. He pauses and Santana holds her breath. "No, actually, I don't think she is," he admits softly. "She—she's not herself right now."

Santana tries to muffle her sobs into her palm. When she whispers "I'm sorry" she's not sure what she's apologizing for. She just clutches the phone to her ear and hopes that Bobby won't work out what's wrong, that he won't tell Brittany that she called him sobbing. She waits for him to ask more questions, to question her like he might do in any other circumstance. She's not prepared for him to ask what he does, though, especially when his voice is so soft and gentle.

"Do you _love_ her, Santana?"

She nods her head instantly and sniffs into her palm, she shifts until her cheek can rest against her palm, flat against the bed, and nods again. "I do," she whispers brokenly.

Bobby makes no sound of shock or anger. He just breathes as gently as he always does until Santana feels it begin to soothe her. "Did you hurt her?" he asks and there's no accusation in his voice, just curiosity.

She gulps and thinks for a moment before nodding.

"I think I did," she whispers. Her face screws up at the thought, at how unbearable the knowledge of it is. She chokes against her wrist and shakes her head. "I didn't mean to," she whispers, hoping that it'll help make things a little better.

It's a surprise to her when he doesn't start yelling at her. She braces herself for it, tenses her body for the impact, but the words never come. She wants them to. She thinks, sometimes, that Bobby's the only person who loves Brittany as much as she does. He used to hit people for the sake of protecting Brittany more than she did. If anything, she learned to follow by his example.

But he doesn't do that now. Instead, Bobby sighs and, for the first time, Santana hears him falter.

"Did something happen?" he asks quietly and her breath catches at the question. Her gentle tears feel like they're going to turn into proper sobs of anguish and she doesn't know how to stop them. "What did she do, Honey Bee?"

She doesn't think she'd ever be able to stop them once she hears that. A sob breaks free from her, loud and helpless, and she clutches her hand into the pillow wishing there was a warm, familiar body beneath it. She can't handle this. She can't handle the reminder of what she's lost because when Brittany left she took the place where Santana fit with her. Her cheeks feel warm and sticky with tears and she can hear Bobby hushing her quietly on the end of the line.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he whispers quietly and she's glad because she wouldn't know how to explain it to him if she tried.

Her head shakes and, for a minute, she lets herself bask in Bobby's influence. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him. She's not even sure how long it's been since they spoke. It must have been last summer because she didn't see him at Christmas because of Artie or Spring Break because of how weird everything was. She doesn't know how she didn't realize that she'd missed him.

"She left," she whispers quietly and feels silly. "I didn't want her to," her breath catches. "I never want her to."

Bobby breathes but then she can't hear it for the sound of beeping somewhere nearby and the shouting of nurses as they rush up the hall.

"Santana," Bobby starts once the line has lapsed into quiet again. "What's wrong? Where are you?"

"It doesn't matter," she says softly. She doesn't want him to worry about her. He needs to be there. He needs to look after Brittany until Santana can figure out what she wants to do. She's glad when she hears Quinn and Uncle Frank's voices from somewhere down the hall. "I have to go."

"Santana..."

"No," she whispers. "I'll be okay. I just have to go now." She shakes her head and sniffs, takes a moment to imagine Brittany in her pajamas, snuggled into Bobby's always-blue bedsheets. "Look after her."

Bobby's voice catches like he wants to say something but then he breathes out heavily. He pauses and she's seconds away from hanging up when he speaks.

"Always," he says and the determination in his voice sounds like the feeling she's had inside of her since she was five years-old.

It puts her at ease and she breathes a little easier as she hangs up the phone. She wipes tears from her cheeks as the door opens.

"Were you talking to somebody?" Quinn asks as she steps inside, carrying a fresh cup of coffee and a bagel.

Santana wipes her face subconsciously before she shakes her head.

/

Her room is quiet and tense with the three of them there. Frank avoids Santana's eyes and she avoids his, not knowing what will happen if she looks up at him and sees all this new knowledge reflected back at her. She feels like it might make this harder.

The nurses bustle in and out of the room, getting things ready and giving her more tests to make sure that everything's okay. They hand her another hospital gown and some socks, telling her to put them on because she'll be going to the OR soon. She takes a deep breath as she holds them, telling herself not to cry and refusing to let the pressure get to her.

Frank leaves the room but Quinn stays behind and messily attempts to fold up her clothes as Santana changes. She's glad for it because the thought of being alone scares her all of a sudden. It makes tingles prick at the ends of her fingers, her heart beat faster, and she worries her hands together as she sits at the edge of the bed and waits.

"You okay?" Quinn says, before Frank comes back in. Her hands work to pull the sheet up over Santana's legs and she easily takes Santana's hand. Santana nods, even though she knows she isn't. It's easier to pretend that she is because she knows that it'll make getting through this easier. It's better than worrying about something that hasn't happened yet.

"I'm fine," she whispers, even as she wraps and squeezes her fist around Quinn's thumb. "I'm fine."

/

More and more people start to come into her room and she doesn't know whether it makes her feel better or worse. Quinn remains sat on the edge of the bed as people move around them, she talks to Santana about the phone call Rachel subjected her to the night before, and never lets go of her hand.

Her thumb strokes over the back of Santana's shivering knuckles and smiles at her comfortingly. Santana doesn't know how or when this switched from her looking after Quinn to Quinn looking after her, but her mind rushes through everything they've been through recently and she figures that maybe that's not the point. Maybe they were always looking after each other.

They put her on an IV drip and she keeps her eyes on Quinn as the same nurse who took her blood test inserts the cannula into the back of her hand. It scratches and freaks her out a bit but Quinn's familiar face in front of her, and the sound of Bobby's voice still fresh in her memory, make her at ease.

When her doctor steps into the room, her heart beats faster. Quinn's bandaged hand moves to cover her own shaking one and she holds it, keeping it steady.

"Go look after Abuela," she says to Uncle Frank as he leans down to kiss her good luck when they tell her it's time. He pulls back and nods, patting Quinn on the back before leaving.

Quinn holds her hand all the way to the OR and brushes a soothing hand over her cheek when Santana begins to panic at the chaos of people around her. It works because, for a moment, Santana doesn't think about the nurses and doctors and anesthesiologists that surround her. She thinks about Quinn and how she really will be an awesome mom one day because this caring thing really suits her. She's about to tell her when a nurse presses a hand to Quinn's shoulder and tells her this is as far as she can go.

"Quinn—" she whimpers pathetically. Quinn brushes her hair back off her face, tucking a stray dark lock back beneath the surgical cap they forced her to wear.

"I'll wait here," she says kindly. "I'll see you when you wake up."

Her hand doesn't leave Santana's until she's forced to let go. Santana squeezes her eyes shut tight, glad that she's got her best friend.

/

The lights are too bright and there are suddenly too many people wearing surgical scrubs and face masks surrounding her. They tell her how everything's going to go and to not be worried.

Santana barely listens and just keeps nodding her head at everything they say. She just wants it to be over with.

"Okay, Santana," they say after a few moments of her being poked and prodded. She lets them stick and clip things to her skin without argument. "Can you open your eyes for us?"

She does, but only because she's too anxious not to. A nurse, with her face mask pulled down under her chin, smiles at her and strokes a thumb over her wrist where it lays spread out for the anesthesiologist.

"Good girl," the nurse smiles, her green eyes kind behind her glasses. Santana wonders what they'll do with her own once she's asleep. She asks the nurse as much in a panic. "We'll keep them safe," she says gently. "But first we need you to count back from ten as the doctor puts you to sleep, okay?"

She nods and starts when the nurse gives her an encouraging nod. A flurry of movement happens beside her and then she feels a rush as something is flushed into her blood stream.

She thinks she remembers getting to five before she doesn't remember anything at all.

/

"Santana! Santana, sweetheart, are you going to wake up for us?"

The voices sound like they should be loud but to her it's like they're underwater. They bubble and gurgle and she feels like she's breaking the surface as they jostle her to wake her up.

Her mind is fuzzy but someone told her once that anesthesia makes you partially deaf for a while afterward and the nurses have to yell at you to wake you up.

If she wasn't so groggy, she'd think it's ridiculous. She'd probably want to laugh, but all she feels is cold and sad. Too sad, really. Her throat hurts from where they put the tube down her throat and feels it ache as the tears bubble helplessly up her throat.

The weirdest thing is, she doesn't know why she's crying.

It's kind of lucky that she's still so out of it that she can't feel embarrassed. The only things that really register are the cold that surrounds her—which she knows is another thing caused by the anesthesia—and the ache in her back from the surgery. She slowly realizes that she's on her front and she buries her face into the pillow as the sobs increase.

A hand, unfamiliar and strange, strokes over her back and she doesn't recognize the voice that tries to soothe her.

"My back hurts," she whimpers and it kind of feels like she's drunk. Her body won't really move how she wants it to and her head is fuzzy. "My back hurts," she repeats, and the nurses laugh at her a little. She hates it.

"It's okay, sweetie," the nurse says to her, and she feels another blanket being tossed over her shoulders as she curls more around the pillow her body is resting on. "We'll get you something for your back." Santana feels something rush up her arm, making her sleepy all over again. "You're going to be a hero," she thinks she hears the nurse say before her body drifts back off to sleep again. "Heroes get special treatment."

/

It's not until they take her back to the ward from the recovery room that she realizes how much she kinda underestimated this surgery. It's been an hour and she still can't really move her legs. Four nurses have to help her pull her body from the gurney onto her bed and she hates them all as they tug her around to make her comfortable.

She feels tired and hates them even more because they keep coming to check on her every few minutes, taking her blood pressure and asking her if she's okay. She keeps telling them that she just feels a little nauseous but they still won't leave her alone.

She's shocked when she opens her eyes and sees Quinn's face looking back at her. Maybe she fell asleep, she doesn't know, but Quinn is sat there and she's smiling wearily at her, like she's not sure what to do.

"How d'you feel?" she asks quietly.

Santana tucks herself tighter around her pillow. She thinks that maybe they've put a couple of pillows behind her but she doesn't care enough to check. She's comfortable, just aware of the pain that's left behind at her lower back. It feels tender and like she probably won't want to touch it for a while.

She takes a deep breath and coughs against the ache in her throat. "I don't know," she mumbles, letting Quinn pull the blankets up around her chin. "Weird," she manages to figure out.

Quinn smiles and rests her hand over Santana's. "It's okay," she says affectionately. "Get some rest and tell me later."

/

When she wakes up, Quinn's still there. She doesn't know how long it's been since she closed her eyes but she wants to open them now.

"I'm really sorry..." Santana starts, softly. Quinn moves closer to listen to her and shakes her head when Santana repeats herself. "No, I'm... I'm really sorry that I didn't realize you needed help sooner..." she whispers, her throat still croaky. She wants some water. "I'm sorry you had to turn into a lunatic."

Quinn laughs and reaches to push her hair out of her face again. Santana feels her mouth rise in a dopey smile. She's not sure what's so funny.

"Don't worry about that now," she giggles lowly. Her hands are warm on Santana's face. "You just keep enjoying that morphine."

Santana nods and hums in agreement. "Morphine's awesome," she breathes, nuzzling her cheek into Quinn's hand.

Quinn's smile widens. "I know," she agrees. "I know it is."

/

She doesn't really become aware of her surroundings until around two o'clock that afternoon. Quinn flicks through the hospital TV channels as Santana remains laying on her front after learning how much it ached to be on her back.

It doesn't bother her so much. It's worth it. She knew it was to be expected but from the comments she's heard the nurses making, she bruises like a peach. When she asked Quinn, the only comment she could make was that it made her hickeys look tame. Santana flushed because she'd completely forgotten about them.

It's kind of boring just laying there and she's really glad when Uncle Frank decides to show up.

She regrets that thought the instant she hears Quinn's panicked "Frank?" and catches sight of his pale, worried face.

Her stomach drops and she's instantly glad there's nothing in her stomach. She clutches the pillow until her knuckles go white and doesn't argue when Quinn takes her hand. They both just wait for Frank to do whatever he has to do as he stands and pants for breath at the foot of the bed.

It's like waiting to be hit by a car or for the ground to fall from beneath your feet. Her heart thumps in her chest and she hears louder beeps where she's still attached to the monitor behind her. Quinn rubs her knuckles to soothe her but it doesn't work. Santana's breathing becomes labored and scared.

"Frank!" Quinn snaps and he gasps out at the sharpness of her voice. Santana can see her flicking between them out of the corner of her eye, shaking her head at Frank to warn him. "What's wrong?" she says quietly, tucking the blankets further around Santana. "Did they give her the transplant yet?"

Frank breathes out and she hears his feet pacing again. After a few moments, she hears a hand slam against the wall before a harsh, bitter "FUCK!" is muffled into his hands. She's crying before he's even spoke.

"No," he says, breathlessly. "No," he repeats. "They didn't get a chance to." She wants to punch him for pacing himself so much. She wants to get up out of this damn bed and shake him until he spills it. She doesn't know who she wants to hurt because she can't. She can still barely feel her legs. "I got there this morning and they said she'd been bad in the night. Within an hour they were taking her back up to the ICU because she could hardly breathe and then about an hour ago her lung collapsed and—" Santana's face falls and she doesn't know what she's meant to do. "Fuck," Frank says. "I'm so sorry, Santana..." he whispers. "I'm so sorry. They say it's pneumonia."

/

"I don't understand," Quinn says as her hands reach out to brace Santana. Her face screws up against the pain but she ignores the aching and the stiffness of her muscles as she forces Quinn to pass her her clothes. "What does this mean? What does any of this mean?"

Santana whimpers and she flops back against the bed for a moment before forcing herself back up to sit.

"Santana," her nurse says, gripping her around the shoulders. "You need to lay down; you're going to hurt yourself."

She shrugs her away, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tugs her sweatpants from Quinn's hands.

"It means she's going to die," Santana splutters as the nurse, Frank and Quinn all try to grapple control of her flailing arms and push her back to the bed. "Didn't you hear me?" she pushes their hands away and the monitors behind her beep in warning. "She has pneumonia! Pneumonia, Frank. Do you know what the odds of her surviving that without any fucking white blood cells are? Do you? Because I spent my entire fucking life scaring myself with this shit." Her body buckles a little, her muscles aching. "The odds of her surviving this are nothing," she whimpers. "Nothing. She's seventy-one years-old and she has leukemia, Uncle Frank. She doesn't stand a chance."

She slumps and her chin drops to her chest as she realizes how too-exhausted she is to hold it up. Her head still feels woozy from the drugs, her body still aching from the surgery. She just wants to curl up and for someone to hold her. She just wants to feel the warmth and comfort of someone wrapped around her body until she feels strong again. She doesn't want to feel alone and scared and disappointed in herself and the universe anymore. She wants everything to stop going fucking wrong and she wants to live her life in peace.

More than anything, she wishes that she could just live her life in peace without all this hurt constantly settling in her chest and making it difficult to breathe.

Her face falls into her hands, the wire of her IV wrapping around her wrist, as she sobs. She doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know what to do.

After a few minutes, she's aware of Quinn sinking into the spot behind her on the bed as Uncle Frank drops into the one in front of her. His large hands reach to wrap around the back of her head and he pulls her into his shoulder as Quinn carefully strokes up and down her back.

None of the three of them speak but eventually the nurse does. She takes Santana's hand and untangles the wire from around her wrist, making sure everything's still in place. She checks Santana's vitals and then she squeezes past Quinn to check her bandages. There's some tugging and some sharp intakes of breath, but eventually, the nurse covers her back up and forces Santana to look at her.

"I need you to drink some water, eat something and pee," she whispers gently. "And then I will get you in a wheelchair and make sure you get to your grandmother, okay?"

Santana nods and doesn't argue when three separate hands reach to wipe away her tears.

It's the most powerless she's ever felt.

/

Her nurse and Quinn help her to get dressed. She lets her body relax, gives control over to them completely, too tired to fight anymore. She's not sure if there's any point anyway.

The nurse eventually leaves to get Santana a wheelchair, leaving Quinn behind with her.

"I'm not going to tell you that everything's going to be okay," Quinn whispers as she tidies Santana's hair, tucking some of it behind her ear. "I don't know that and I don't want to lie anymore." Santana looks up at her, swallowing thickly. Quinn tilts her head to the side. "But I will promise you that I'm here." She shrugs. "Whatever you need, okay?"

Santana looks at her for a second but then she nods. Quinn smiles and she looks more grateful than anything. She reaches to take Santana's glasses from her pocket and Santana doesn't ask any questions, just lets Quinn open the arms and slip them onto her nose.

/

They wheel her back onto the intensive care unit and she gets deja vu as she catches sight of Uncle Frank, talking quietly to a nurse and a doctor like he'd been when she arrived.

He breathes out when he sees her, stepping towards her quietly, his face the picture of worry.

"Hi, Cookie," he whispers quietly and she gulps at him as the same doctor from days before steps up beside him.

"Ms. Lopez," he says kindly. His voice doesn't sound real. It sounds like it's filled with false empathy and pity. She always said that if she were ever a doctor she would never pretend to be something other than what she was. "How are you?"

She shakes her head, doesn't want to talk about her, and attempts to work her mouth around the words she wants to say.

"What—what..." she trails off and clears her throat. "What happened?"

The doctor shakes his head. "We don't know," he admits. "With her immune system the way it is, the pneumonia could have been caused by anything. That's the problem. It's volatile. Dr. Burns said the nurses noticed that she was having some trouble breathing late last night and they thought it was just left over from her infection. They put her on oxygen but by the morning she could barely breathe."

Santana blinks and nods. She feels like the smallest person here with all these people stood up around her. She swallows and fights everything inside of her telling her to scream.

"And now?" she whispers.

"She's unconscious," the doctor tells her gently. "But she's still fighting to breathe on her own."

"But?" Santana asks, even though she's pretty sure she knows.

The doctor clears his throat and Santana feels Quinn's hand squeeze her shoulder.

"We have to wait and see if she comes around," the doctor says. "Then we'll have a better chance of determining what we need to do from here. Right now we're pushing antibiotics but, from what we can see, the infection is so fast and severe that the possibility of them working is unlikely."

Santana's eyes widen because twenty-four hours ago she was going to save her grandmother's life. She was going to have this transplant and then everything would be okay for just a little while longer.

"And the bone marrow?" she chokes, grasping, grappling, scratching for any kind of hope she can.

The doctor sighs and bends down to face her. His hand reaches to grip her other shoulder. "Santana," he says kindly and she notices how less like a doctor he suddenly looks. "I think we're beyond that now. I think the time for that has passed."

Santana shakes her head at him. "No," she whispers angrily, because she doesn't need him—a stranger—coming here and telling her what is and what isn't. He obviously doesn't know her grandmother. He doesn't know who her _family _is. She's a fighter and there's no way she's giving up now. She's come too far. "She's going to fight this and she's going to live. She's going to fucking live. You watch."

"Santana..."

"No," she spits. "No!" The tears feel like acid down the back of her already aching throat. Today has been a long day. "You don't get to take her away from me yet. No fucking way. She still has a chance and you're not taking that away yet. Do you understand me?"

The doctor nods, his neck unsure and soft like spaghetti. "Of course," he whispers.

/

Immediate family only is what they tell them.

Santana doesn't care what rules they have; she'd ignore all of them if they meant she couldn't sit with her grandmother.

It's different for Quinn and Uncle Frank, though. Quinn quietly tells her she's going to go back to the hotel and Frank, too anxious to sit and wait, tells her he's going for a walk. Santana doesn't really listen to either of them, just asks her nurse to leave her things as one of the ICU nurses wheels her to see her grandmother.

She doesn't realize it's Nurse June until the woman kneels down in front of her and asks her if she needs anything.

"I can get you a chocolate milk, if you want," she says quietly and Santana shakes her head, touched and saddened by her kindness.

"I just want to sit with her," she croaks out.

June nods and pats her knee. "Well, I'm here if you need me." She pauses and looks at Santana pointedly. "For anything."

/

The silence is unbearable but she'll wait as long as she needs to. The rhythmic beeps of the machines behind her grandmother are so familiar that she barely even notices them anymore. She just sits and looks out of the window to where the sun begins to set warmly on the horizon.

Nurses and doctors move in and out of the room but none of them talk to her. June occasionally comes in and stands beside her, rests her hands on Santana's shoulder before leaving again. Frank doesn't return and Santana's cell phone is probably dead and out of battery in her bag by now. She doesn't know why it matters. She doesn't know who she'd call.

Maybe Brittany, if she wasn't so scared of how little Brittany probably wanted to talk to her now, how much she can't bear to be near Santana that she ran back across the country to get away from her.

She takes a breath.

God, why didn't she just tell her the truth? Why is she _always_ so fucking late in everything she does?

She leans forward to bury her face in her hands, breathing as steadily as she can. It hurts her back but she doesn't care. The pain is good to concentrate on.

She jumps when she hears something move. Her eyes open wide and she looks up frantically to find its source. She almost bursts into tears with joy when she sees her grandmother's eyes flickering, her body twitching as she fades back into consciousness.

"Abuela?" she whispers uncertainly. She pushes herself as far forward in her wheelchair as she can, still unsteady on her feet. Her grandmother keeps shifting, soft sounds leaving her mouth. "Abuela?" Santana tries again. "Can you hear me?"

She knows she shouldn't but she does it anyway. Her hands brace her against the edge of the bed and she winces a little as she fights against her aching muscles to stand and hover over her grandmother.

"Abuela?" she whispers, hand reaching to touch her grandmother's cheek. "Can you hear me?"

"Libby..."

Santana's stomach drops and in a second she feels a tear rolling down her cheek. "No, Abuela, it's me. It's Santana. It's Cookie."

Her grandmother groans, eyes spaced and delirious as they flicker open to search around. She mumbles softly, a mix of Spanish and English, but Santana still understands it. She still hears the unmistakeable begging for someone who isn't her. It hurts for a million different reasons.

"No, Abuela," she whispers around a choked whimper of her own. "It's Santana. I'm here."

When her grandmother begins to sob quietly, Santana sobs out helplessly too. "I want Libby," her grandmother begs. "F-find Libby. I—I _need_ Libby..."

"Abuela..." she tries but it's useless. Tears roll down her grandmother's cheeks and she doesn't know whether to wipe them away or not. She doesn't know if it's safe.

"I want Libby," her grandmother whimpers. "That's all I ever wanted. Just her. Why was that so wrong?" she asks and Santana wishes she had an answer almost as much as she wishes her grandmother's voice wasn't rough and struggled from what fills her lungs."Why is it so wrong for me to want her here? I want her here."

Santana wipes away her own tears and ignores how her arm quivers from holding up most of her weight. "I know," she says softly. "I know you do. I know and I'm sorry she's not here. I'm sorry."

"She is..." Her grandmother struggles on the bed and Santana does do something then. She stops her from rolling or rocking so she doesn't hit the bars that stop her from falling off the bed. "She's here..."

Santana knows this is what happens. It's the fever. It's a symptom of the condition. She tries to hush her grandmother because having to make her realize that Libby isn't here is going to be one of the roughest and hardest things she'll ever have to do. Listening to someone tell you that the person you love isn't there is one of the hardest things to hear.

"She isn't, Abuela," she whispers brokenly. "She left, remember? She left after Daddy was born."

"No..."

Santana pauses at the sudden strength in her grandmother's voice. Her eyes widen and Santana sees the determination in them, the desperation for Santana to understand. Santana stutters, her eyes narrowing as she searches out her grandmother's face. Her grandmother pants for breath as she waits for Santana to realize what she's trying to tell her.

"N—No?" she whispers questioningly.

"No," her grandmother repeats and Santana watches her but she's not even looking at her anymore. Her eyes have fallen away and she's looking around Santana, beyond her, at something that makes her face fill with relief. Santana feels her heart begin to pound as she slowly prepares herself to turn and see what that thing is.

"_Libby_..." her grandmother sighs and Santana can't wait anymore. She turns to look in the doorway.

Her breath hitches as she forgets how to breathe.

For a moment, she wonders if she's still unconscious from her surgery.

That thought is taken from her when the woman stood in the doorway takes a timid step closer and smiles.

"Hello," she says in one of the gentlest voices Santana's ever heard, even as it breaks a little. "My name is Elizabeth... I've heard a lot about you."

/

Santana's quiet as she stares at the woman, her eyes wide.

She takes in her graying hair and the green of her eyes, the unmistakeable sharpness of her cheekbones that perfectly match those of the young woman she'd seen in photographs. She takes in her flower-covered scrubs and her bright pink surgical shoes. She takes in her smile and how scared it looks, the warmth of her body as it steps closer to Santana and her grandmother. She watches her with wide eyes as the woman walks and moves, stepping closer to the bed until she forgets Santana's even there and leans down to press her hand to her grandmother's cheek to wipe away her tears. She listens as the woman quietly whispers that she's here now and everything's okay.

It's then that Santana gasps for breath, her body edging backwards until she can fall back into the wheelchair.

Her first coherent thought is that she can't take this anymore.

"Wh—what... what?" she mumbles as she can't fight back the need to sob. The two women look at her, their eyes widening and softening at the sight of her. Santana's almost hyperventilating when Elizabeth steps around the bed and kneels down to look at her.

She presses her hand to Santana's chest and Santana gasps at it in shock. Before now, she could almost pretend that the woman wasn't real, just a story her grandmother told her. Now, her warm hands are pressed to Santana's skin, her green eyes looking at her gently as she quietly checks Santana's pulse. Her grandmother's hand somehow manages to rest in the woman's hair and Santana doesn't know what to do or say, so she just waits for someone to prompt her into action.

"We need to keep an eye on you," Elizabeth says gently. Her hand falls from where it was counting on the watch attached to the front of her scrubs to squeeze Santana's knee. "You've had a long day."

Santana feels herself slowly starting to breathe better because of the woman's hand on her chest and she doesn't understand why. "You're..." she starts. "You're here."

Elizabeth smiles and Santana thinks she hears her breath hitch a little as she opens her mouth to speak. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispers. "I was _always_ here."

Santana tilts her head to question but the woman just pats her knee and smiles again. She stands up and Santana watches as she moves back around the bed, leaning over her grandmother to hush her quietly as she whimpers her name. Santana ignores that and finally notices the woman's scrubs.

Has she really been here all along? Did Santana just not notice her?

"It's okay," Elizabeth whispers, pulling her from her reverie.

Her grandmother clutches at Elizabeth's wrist. "Tell her," Santana hears her whisper. "Tell her the truth."

"Shhh..." Libby whispers and Santana just watches, shocked and unfamiliar with this stranger who's touching her grandmother so intimately.

"Tell her," her grandmother begs. "Please."

The woman nods and Santana just watches as something quiet and unspoken goes between them. She tries to control her breathing, tries not to burst into tears but, for once, she feels like she doesn't actually know how to. Instead, she watches as knuckles stroke over her grandmother's cheek, as green eyes look into dark, dark brown until it feels like she's intruding on two people in their own little world.

"Okay," Libby says after a moment. Her voice is nothing but a hum. "I'll tell her." She smiles. "But you make sure you warn me if I'm telling it wrong, okay?" Her grandmother just blinks in response as Libby reaches for an oxygen mask and begins to slip it over her face. "Okay."

Santana's still as the woman maneuvers herself so that her body is laying half on, half off the bed. Her eyes don't move away from watching the woman's hand as, at first, it strokes her grandmother's hip, before steadily moving back up to cup her cheek and stroke her face. Green eyes don't look at Santana—they look at her grandmother—and, after a few moments, Santana realizes the hand her grandmother has clutched at the back of the woman's scrubs, keeping her close.

"I did what I promised to do," Elizabeth starts. "I promised I'd stay away and I did. I moved back to New Orleans and I got my nursing degree but I moved back eventually. I moved back to Miami because I promised to wait for her and that's what I did. I waited and then she came and found me." Her eyes soften as she smiles. "Didn'tcha?" she breathes gently. "You went looking everywhere but the one place you should have found me but, it's okay, you found me in the end." Her eyes suddenly snap to Santana. "In May of last year, she found me. I was working at a hospital in Fort Lauderdale and I got out of work one day and she was sat there waiting for me in that ridiculous Cadillac of hers." She chuckles. "We didn't even have to say anything, did we?"

Santana feels her heart break when her grandmother shakes her head in agreement.

"We thought that was it, that we wouldn't have to wait anymore and that we could just _finally_ be together," Libby breathes. "I waited so long and I finally got to date My Elena." Her grandmother smiles lazily and Santana feels her mouth quirking at the corners too. "I finally got to have her and then one day she just... started getting sick." She shakes her head woefully. "She refused to admit it at first but there were bruises and she was just..." Her grandmother's hand drifts up to grip at the wrist of the hand on her cheek. "I was a mess," she goes on. "A complete mess, at first, but then I found hope. I always had hope when it came to you," she whispers to her grandmother and Santana's breath chokes. "I told her she had to tell your father, and you, of course," she nods her head at Santana. "She didn't want to but I forced her and she did, last thanksgiving."

"Thanksgiving?" Santana says because, somewhere, in the back of her mind, things start to clear of dust and make sense.

Libby nods. "When you'd gone back to school, before she caught her plane, she told your parents. They told her to move to Ohio but..." she shakes her head and without even pausing leans forward to kiss her grandmother's forehead. "...when she told them she wasn't going to because I was going to look after her, they told her she was crazy. They told her she was being ridiculous and the more she refused, the less cooperative they became. They started threatening her, saying that she was always trying to ruin your family." She bites the words out and sounds angry. If Santana knew her better, she might know but she _sounds_ angry. "She refused everything until they played their last hand..."

She turns to Santana and her smile is watery. Santana's brow quirks. "Me?"

Libby nods. Her grandmother's looking at her now too. "They told her that they didn't want you to be exposed to this, that she wasn't allowed to see you until she stopped with this '_nonsense'_ and I'm so sorry she was so stubborn. I told her to do whatever they wanted but she wouldn't... she wouldn't." Santana's shell-shocked, stunned and aching more than she knew she could as the woman speaks. "She came home and she tried to get better but nothing was working. I quit work to look after her but... nothing. So, about a month ago, _I_ called your father and asked that, if he wasn't going to do anything, he could at least let her see you one more time and he agreed just as long as we didn't tell you about the leukemia... or me."

Santana feels her body slump. She feels like she's been used. She falls back against the chair and sobs.

"But she wanted to see you one last time," Libby tells her. "She wanted to say goodbye and she never thought you would try and save her. That's never what she wanted. She never wanted to use you for the gift you so happily tried to give her." Elizabeth's voice chokes up as her grandmother stares wide-eyed between them. "She just wanted to say goodbye."

Her grandmother's hand reaches for her unsteadily and Santana leans forward and takes it without a second thought. She curls both her hands around her grandmother's and kisses her knuckles, desperate to cling to her for as long as she can. She can't lose her... she's all she has.

She gasps against her skin and shakes her head, lets this woman she barely knows take her hand from her grandmother's cheek to rest it in her own messy hair. She knows that she understands how this feels.

"I would have done it either way," Santana says around a sob as she looks up at them both. Her lungs ache but she knows it's nothing compared to what her grandmother feels. "I would have done it anyway, you know that? If you'd have asked, I would have done it."

When they both nod, she feels absolved.

/

Her grandmother starts to drift in and out of consciousness, her breathing labored and heavy. It sparks fear in Santana, fear of the inevitable and she lets Libby stand behind her with her hands on her shoulders as the doctors check over her to see what's happening.

There's another chest x-ray and a million people listening to her grandmother's chest. Nurses pump her with more drugs but, after a few hours, the doctor turns to them, his face blank.

Santana knows what's coming before he even opens his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he says in a whisper, like that will help soften the blow. Santana doesn't even question how Libby's hands pull her shoulders against her, her thumbs stroking soothingly. "The antibiotics aren't working and we can try to drain some of the fluid but it would do more harm than good. Her lungs..." the doctor falters. "Her lungs just aren't strong enough."

And then he pauses before he says the one thing Santana doesn't want to hear.

"I'm sorry," he breathes and she can almost hear guilt in his voice. "There's nothing more we can do."

/

Libby sits on one side of the bed while Santana sits on the other. Nurse June got them both a comfy chair but Santana doesn't really care about that now. She's pretty sure that Libby doesn't either. Her body slumps sleepily over the side of the bed, one hand clutched around her grandmother's wrist and the other thrown over her grandmother's thighs. Santana resists the urge to hold it with her own spare hand that isn't clutching her grandmother's. She wonders what it must have been like to sit and hope and for it to come to this. She wonders how exhausting it was.

"Are you... okay?" someone asks and Santana jolts a little to look up to see her grandmother looking at her with worried eyes.

Santana tries to smile. "Don't worry about that."

Her grandmother smiles, her eyes rolling back into her head a little. Santana knows that, soon, the oxygen in her lungs will become so low that she'll probably not wake up again, that they'll have to wait until she stops breathing all together.

Her grandmother's hand twitches in her own. "But I do," she struggles. "I want to know..." she takes in a breath that makes Santana wince. She almost wants to put the mask more comfortably back on her grandmother's face from where it's fallen to the side. "I want to know... what you're thinking about."

Santana blinks away tears and tries to smile again. It's hard. "I'm thinking about you," she whispers. "I'm thinking about you and—and how much I wanted you to see me graduate." She sniffs away the tingling of tears that aches at her cheeks and the back of her throat. "I'm thinking about how you won't get to see me get married to..." She trails off before she says something she doesn't want to jinx. "You were supposed to see me get married," she tries again. "And—and have babies and..."

Her grandmother weakly squeezes her hand in Santana's own. "I know..." she blinks. "I know," she repeats and Santana looks up at her. "But... but the thought that you will? That's enough for me."

Santana bites back a whimper. "Yeah?"

"Yes," her grandmother nods and her smile is wider now. She swallows gently. "Brittany... loves you," she whispers. "She loves you and just because she's not here now doesn't make that any different." Her grandmother shrugs off Santana's hand until she can rest her own over it, until her thumb strokes tiredly over Santana's knuckles. "Trust me," she breathes. "I know these things... Just because... something hasn't happened yet... doesn't mean it won't later."

Santana smiles. "Yeah?"

"Some things..." she gulps and Santana watches as a tear squeezes its way from the corner of her eye. "Some things are meant to be."

The look in her eyes is unstoppable, the reassurance and the certainty something that Santana wouldn't dare try to argue with. She feels it wrap its way around her as her grandmother looks at her softly and, as Libby jolts back into wakefulness across from her, Santana finds it hard to deny that, sometimes, what her grandmother's saying is true.

/

The only light in the room comes from the small lamp above her grandmother's bed that beams down softly on all three of them.

Santana's eyes don't move from watching her grandmother. She watches as she breathes out and looks around, seeking out Libby where she's moved further up the bed to keep a closer eye on her.

"Libby..."

Libby practically jumps when her grandmother calls her name, bends over her and strokes her cheek again, lifting the oxygen mask from her face to listen to her.

"What's wrong, my love?" she breathes. Santana blinks out another wave of tears.

Her grandmother sighs, her eyes fluttering. "Lay with me," she requests. Libby does, climbing onto the bed and wrapping an arm around her waist until she can grip at her grandmother's hand where it still covers Santana's. Santana watches curiously as her grandmother looks at her, really looks at her, even as her eyes begin to close again. "I'm tired," she whispers.

Libby's face flashes with something and she swallows, sucking in her bottom lip.

"Okay," she whispers and her voice is strange, struggled, scared. "Okay, my love."

Her grandmother nods. "I think... I think you better call a priest," she whispers and Santana doesn't know why, but terror rushes through her body at the thought.

Libby just smiles at her. "Okay," she nods. "Whatever you need."

/

The priest looks at the sight of Libby laying beside her grandmother and narrows his eyes. Santana looks at him until he stops quietly judging them and begins to say all the things he's supposed to say.

Santana doesn't listen to any of it. She just covers her spare hand over Libby and her grandmother's until they're both sandwiched between her own. Her lips linger over her grandmother's wrist and she kisses against it as she closes her eyes and braces herself for everything.

It takes her a few moments to realize that she's praying and even longer for her to wonder why.

It's been a long time but, she's willing to try anything.

Even this.

/

The priest leaves them alone.

Santana understands because she feels like she's intruding, as she watches her grandmother and Libby look at each other. For a moment, she questions if she should leave but knows they would never let her. Neither of them.

"Libby..." her grandmother whispers again and Santana wonders, in the pause between her words, how long she must have wanted to just call her that, to call her Libby, to call her her own. "I'm tired," she eventually says again. It's quieter this time.

Libby leans forward and kisses her forehead, her temple, her cheek. "Then you should go to sleep," she whispers. "It's okay."

Her grandmother tries to nod. "Okay," she whispers from beneath her oxygen mask. "But...but... can you kiss me first?"

Santana watches, her lip trembling as Libby pulls her hand from Santana's grasp and strokes it over her grandmother's jaw. She quietly removes the oxygen mask from her face and cradles her grandmother's head in her hand. She looks at her softly and it's hard not to see the fear in her face, the reluctance.

"I love you... Miss Elizabeth," her grandmother says softly. Her tired brown eyes search out green ones and she smiles a little when she finally focuses. "My Libby..." she breathes proudly.

Libby gasps out a sob but she's smiling and Santana doesn't understand but then she does. She does and it makes her bury her nose into the back of her hand to stop herself from sobbing and ruining this moment that doesn't belong to her.

"Yours," Libby nods in agreement. "Always yours." She leans forward and takes that moment to kiss her, to press their lips together for as long as she can. When she pulls back, there are tears on her grandmother's cheeks that Libby promptly wipes away. "I love you," she tells her softly. "I always will."

Her grandmother nods softly and she looks so peaceful that Santana can't look away. It's almost like she isn't real. Libby chokes out a sob and kisses her again, kisses every part of her skin she can see and reach.

"Don't go too far, okay?" Libby asks and Santana doesn't know what to do. She muffles her sobs into her hand and tries to pretend she isn't there, even as she feels more honored than she's ever felt to witness this moment.

Her grandmother gives Libby a look and then she smiles, wide and happy and relieved. She shakes her head in as much adamant refusal as she can. She nudges her nose against Libby's until Libby pulls their faces together as close as she can.

When she speaks, her voice is a whisper, meant only for one person.

"I'll wait for you," Santana hears her say and she knows it's a promise. She knows, beyond anything, that between them, it couldn't be anything but a promise that they'll always keep.

Libby smiles and then she slips her hand from her grandmother's cheek, reaches down to cover Santana's with it, before resting her head on the pillow beside her grandmother's.

Without a word, Santana removes her hand from beneath Libby's and places it atop it. She kisses the back of her knuckles, before resting her cheek softly against it.

For a moment, everything goes quiet before Libby speaks.

"Go to sleep," she whispers. "Go to sleep, my love."

/

The machines keep beeping behind her, their rhythms slowing as Santana and Libby wait for them to stop. Somewhere in the hours after her grandmother slips out of consciousness for the last time, the door opens and Santana barely turns to see a doctor and Nurse June step in, Uncle Frank following, until she closes it behind them.

They talk in hushed whispers until Frank sits himself in Libby's vacated chair and reaches forward to hold her grandmother's knee. Santana doesn't look at him, doesn't look at any of them. She feels indescribably empty as she concentrates on the slow, struggled rise and fall of her grandmother's chest.

It's easier than listening to the beeps of the machines.

She doesn't know how long it takes, just that she wouldn't miss a second of it for the world. She doesn't know how people take another person's breath for granted so easily.

In the hours they all sit and wait, the sound of her grandmother's breathing is the loudest and quietest thing in the room.

Until it stops, and the room falls into silence.

Santana jerks at the sudden buzzing of the machines, thankful when Nurse June leans over and switches them off.

"Time of death," the doctor says quietly. "Three-twenty-two."

Uncle Frank cries, but Santana and Libby don't.

They share a look as Libby wordlessly pulls her grandmother's hand from Santana's and places it in her lap before tapping her hand on the empty space where it sat.

"C'mon," she whispers quietly and Santana does as she's told, accepting the help Nurse June gives her in putting down the side of the bed so Santana can crawl into the space beside her grandmother.

As she holds her, she's glad that, for a moment, all she feels is relief.

/

Uncle Frank leaves at some point but Santana stays, her hand covering her grandmother's. It's weird but she likes it. She feels like a little kid again, sneaking into her abuela's bed before she wakes up.

"Just let me know when you're ready," Nurse June whispers, covering Libby's hand. "And I'll come in and get everything sorted."

Libby nods. "Thank you," she says. "But I think I want to do it myself."

June smiles kindly and then squeezes Libby's hand.

"Of course," she nods, and then she's gone.

/

She doesn't know how much longer they lay there but, eventually, Libby takes a deep breath and turns away from her grandmother's face to look at Santana. Santana looks back at her and notices how tired she looks at the same time she looks at peace.

"Would you like to help me tuck her in?" she asks quietly and Santana gulps at the dryness of her throat before nodding.

/

They tidy her up, Libby giving quiet instruction that Santana follows without argument. They tuck the blankets around her and Santana doesn't say anything when Libby comments that they don't want her to get cold. It doesn't matter that she will, just that they don't want her to.

"Was it worth it?" Santana says suddenly, catching herself off guard as well as Libby. The woman looks up at her and narrows her eyes from where she straightens her grandmother's headscarf. Santana takes in a breath that hitches in her throat. "Waiting... all that time... all that loneliness. Was it worth it? Just for a year?"

Libby looks away from her, her eyes gliding over her grandmother reverently. Wordlessly, her hands stroke over her arms, her hands, her body now removed of all the things that were keeping her alive. She really does look like she's sleeping.

When Libby looks at her, her green eyes are brimming with tears and happiness and pride. Santana gasps at it in shock as Libby nods adamantly.

"An hour would have been worth it," she says earnestly. "A minute."

She smiles proudly.

Santana cries, but not for her grandmother.


	16. Part 12

She's not sure how long she's been staring at the wall. Her eyes feel big and small at the same time and her face feels like all the muscles in it are frozen. The weirdest thing is that she feels completely numb, tingling from her head down to her toes, as she stares, past the body on the bed, at the wall.

"Where did the lilies go?" she asks and it's the first time she's aware of how disconnected her body is, how disconnected her _brain_ is. She didn't even realize that that was what she was staring at: the distinct lack of the lilies that had been sitting there.

It's Nurse June that kneels down in front of her. She strokes Santana's hair from her face and looks at her with concern.

"They must have left them in the transplant ward," she mutters quietly as her hand shifts from Santana's hair to rub gently at her shoulder. "I could go get them for you if you want them."

Santana shakes her head slowly. "No," she says. "No, I just..." Her body feels like it's going to twitch where it's so stiff and she takes a shaky breath. "I was just thinking..." She pauses because she's not actually sure. "I was just thinking about if she would want lilies... at—at her funeral..." She blinks and it feels foreign. It almost hurts. "Do you think she'd want lilies?"

A hand falls to Nurse June's shoulder and then she's standing up. Santana doesn't pay attention, just continues to stare at where the lilies should be, on the table in the corner where they'd been when she arrived on Sunday morning. It's ridiculous that, as she sits in a room with her grandmother's body, that's the thing that feels most out of place.

Someone else kneels in front of her and her eyes narrow, at the place where the lilies should be like she's trying to figure something out, when a hand presses to her cheek. She barely feels it but she looks around anyway. It feels like she's just caught something out of the corner of her eye.

"Sweetheart," Libby whispers, and her thumb brushes backwards and forwards over Santana's cheek. It feels like wind. She looks at Libby but she doesn't see her. She sees the outline of her as she looks up at someone else and whispers. "She's going into shock."

Santana looks at her gently and it's strange how she's barely known this woman twelve hours but, at the same time, it feels like she's known her all her life. "Do you think that she'd want lilies?" she asks quietly. It feels like an important thing to ask. It feels like something that Libby would know.

Libby smiles at her and her eyes are dark, heavy. She wipes something from under Santana's eye and looks at her so gently. Santana feels like she should be able to feel it but she can't. She can't feel anything.

"You don't need to worry about that now," she whispers softly. "That's not a thing you need to be worried about. We can worry about that later."

Santana nods. "Okay," she says.

She watches as Libby's eyes flick all across her face, from her hairline to her chin. One hand slips around to the back of her head and cradles it and Santana doesn't understand why; she just lets Libby do it. She lets her kneel up in front of her as her thumb strokes backwards and forwards over her cheek. It feels like she's waiting for something and she seems to know more than Santana does so Santana doesn't question it.

"I can't feel anything," she says quietly. Libby nods. She doesn't look very concerned. Santana thinks that, as a nurse, maybe she should be more concerned.

Instead, she smiles. "I know, sweet girl," she breathes. "I know."

She watches her and Santana just stares into space, into the air around them. She wonders if her grandmother's soul is still in the room. She read once that people used to open the window to let the soul out but she's not sure if she wants to do that. She doesn't know if she wants her grandmother's soul to leave yet so she just stares into space, hoping she might see it.

"They'll be here soon," she hears and it makes her eyes flicker but it doesn't capture her attention. They're speaking quietly, like she can't hear. But she can hear; she just isn't listening enough to understand. "I need to..." they trail off. "I need to get her ready... She can't see that. We can't let her see that."

She doesn't know what they're talking about but she doesn't care. They fuss for a few more moments until they whisper something else, until Libby's hand strokes over her cheek again, harder this time, as she whispers Santana's name.

"Santana," she says quietly. "Do you want to hold these or do you want me to keep them safe for you?" Santana's eyes feel like they're in a pinball machine, rolling around her head. She finally looks down to where Libby's other hand is nudging at her own hands, clasped together in her lap. Something gold and shiny glints through her clenched knuckles. Santana opens her own hand, at the prompt and Libby puts whatever she's holding into her hand. "I know that she wanted you to have these. I know that you have your pappy's wedding ring too, right?"

The question is strange. Santana nods even though she's not sure what it means. She looks down into her hand to find her grandmother's wedding ring sitting there atop her gold chain and crucifix pooled into the well of her palm. She thinks the sight of it makes her breath hitch. She's suddenly aware of Libby's hands on her cheeks again, wiping something from beneath her eye.

The inability to feel anything is starting to scare her.

"But—but she needs to be wearing them," she says quietly. "She needs her crucifix," she whispers, panic trembling at her lips. "And her rosary and her..."

Libby hushes her, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "No, no..." Libby says. "She wanted you to have them all," she promises. "She wanted you to keep them safe."

Santana looks back down into her hand and sees that it's shaking. Libby wraps her hand around it, closing her fingers over the metal. She holds it steady and smiles at Santana.

"Her rosary is in her bag, okay?" she whispers. "I'll get it for you."

Santana nods. Libby presses another kiss to her forehead. "Okay," she says, looking back down at her hand.

"You don't have to worry about anything," Libby whispers quietly, and Santana's not sure if that's true. "You don't have to worry about one tiny thing."

There's a knock at the door. Libby looks up but Santana doesn't want to.

"Sweetie," Libby says in a shaky breath. Santana looks around as Uncle Frank comes into view, kneeling down beside Libby. "I know you probably don't want to but I need you to come with us, okay?" Santana watches as more people dressed in scrubs come into the room. "They have to take your abuela's body somewhere, okay? To get it ready for when the people come get it to take it back to Key West, okay?" Santana nods but all she can hear is the saddened, panicked hitch in Libby's voice. "But you don't need to see that, okay? You don't need to see that."

Santana wants that panic in Libby's voice to go away. It scares her, so she nods, hoping that if she does, it will. She lets Libby pull her to her feet, lets her wrap her arm around her shoulders and guide her out of the room, but then she stops. Something doesn't feel right.

"I need to kiss her goodbye," she says quickly. Her body knows and remembers more than her brain does, it would seem. It knows that she's never left a room her grandmother's been in without kissing her goodbye. Not in her whole life.

Libby looks at her with wide eyes but then she nods, guiding her back to bed. Santana bends over the body and kisses her grandmother's forehead without pause. She lets her lips linger there when she feels a spark of warmth still left in her body. None of it feels real.

"Okay," she nods once she's pulled away. "I'm ready."

/

She lets Libby and Nurse June lead her to another room on the floor below, whispering as they go until they ask her to climb onto an examination table, turning her gently when she tries to lay on her back.

"We promised your nurse from the kids' ward that we'd make sure your bandages were changed and checked," Nurse June tells her softly as she shifts the pillow under Santana's head to make her more comfortable. "We promised her you'd get pain medication if you needed it." She pauses. "Do you need it?"

Santana shakes her head and lets Libby pull a chair up to the other side of her.

"I don't feel anything," she whispers as Libby slips one hand into Santana's where it rests above her head on the pillow before placing the other on her back.

She strokes carefully as Nurse June works, clicking her tongue when she removes the bandages and sighing when Santana's body twitches on reflex. Libby watches her, keeps her eyes trained on Santana and Santana half-watches her back, wondering what she's thinking. She wants to ask but her mouth won't listen, so she just stares softly as June replaces her bandages and pulls down her shirt.

"You need to take it easy," she says but she's not mad. "You won't get better if you don't take it easy."

There's a pause where the only thing Santana can feel is her own body shaking. Libby looks at her with concern and wraps an arm over her body.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" Nurse June asks when all there has been is silence.

It's Libby that looks at her. Santana watches her smile kindly at June.

"Maybe a blanket?" she asks and both she and Santana know that it probably won't stop her shaking.

/

"What happens now?" she asks Libby, once she's been covered over with a blanket until it's snuggled up around her shoulders. Libby's hands still stroke at her back, her hand no longer holding Santana's in favor of pressing it gently to the top of her head.

Libby smiles a little and takes a deep breath.

"Well," she says softly. "Frank called your friend and she's coming to get you. She's going to take you back to your hotel, so you can get your things together, maybe get some fresh clothes, and then we've got to wait for the funeral service from Key West to get here so they can drive your abuela back. I think that Aunt Dena is coming with them so she can drive Frank's car back for him, and then him, you and I and your friend, will drive back with her body."

Santana tries her hardest to listen but words are still muddled in her head. "And then she's got to sit in a funeral home?"

Libby smiles. "They'll look after her."

"She might get lonely," Santana says and know she should feel stupid.

Libby doesn't look at her like she is though. "She won't be there long," she explains. "They're just going to get her ready and then they're going to take her to Uncle Frank's so he can watch over her until her funeral."

_Funeral_.

She blinks. "We have to decide what she wants."

"She's done it all already, sweetheart." Santana's eyes widen. Libby's fingers move to stroke her cheek and her fingers pull away wet, soaked with tears Santana didn't even know she was crying.

She's just suddenly filled with this feeling that she's missed things she should have been included in.

"So there's nothing I need to do?" she asks quietly. She feels useless again.

Libby smiles and kisses her forehead one more time.

"You just need to be brave," she whispers. Her hand strokes tears from Santana's cheek again. "And, so far, you're doing doing brilliantly."

/

There's a knock on the door and Quinn's face is pale when she pokes her head in, hair messy and still dressed in her sleep shirt. Her eyes are fixed on Santana until they see Libby sitting there beside her and she jumps, shocked.

"Sorry," she says worriedly. "I didn't think she was still getting treatment," she says, moving to move back out of the room. "I'll wait outside."

Santana feels panic all over again at the thought of Quinn leaving. Libby must see because she calls out for Quinn.

"Come back," she says softly, hand still resting on Santana's head. Santana feels like, in any other circumstance, this affection would make her sleepy. "I'm not..." Libby tries. "I'm... I'm a friend of her grandmother's."

At the mention of her, Quinn's eyes go wide and she looks at Santana like she doesn't know what to say. She tugs on the bottom of her shirt and runs her hands over her bandages as she nods in understanding. Santana pays no attention to her, her mind too swept up with Libby's choice of words. She wants to say that Libby isn't her grandmother's friend. She isn't. She doubts her grandmother would want her calling herself that either, but her mouth won't work and her body is still not under her own control.

"If you come sit down," Libby says quietly to Quinn. "I could change your bandages for you."

Her head tilts to the side and Santana revels in it. It's strange, she's noticed, how soothing Libby's voice is. Her Southern lilt rises and falls like a lullaby when she speaks and it's as warm as Creole spice. It's comforting and she sinks into it as Quinn timidly walks forward, closer to the bed.

Fingers scratch at Santana's scalp as Libby pulls her hand away, and she squeezes her shoulder as she stands to urge Quinn to sit at the edge of the bed. Santana moves her legs on instinct and feels Quinn's hand fall to rest on her thigh. It squeezes and that's all Santana needs as she tries to close her eyes.

"I heard you had an accident," Libby says, and Santana flickers her eyes back open uncontrollably to see Libby reaching for Quinn's jacket. "Did they give you stitches?"

"Forty-three," she says and Santana watches as Libby's brow rises.

Santana feels her eyes drifting closed, her head emptying, her body becoming more numb, like when they gave her the anesthesia the day before. She tries to fight it but, as she watches Libby and Quinn in front of her and concentrates on the way Quinn's hand strokes at her thigh, it's impossible to deny how safe she strangely feels.

Her eyes drift closed and that's all she remembers.

/

Her dreams run like a replay of the past three days, and she's confused to why she can feel more pain in her dreams than she can in real life. The worst part is that, in her dreams, she knows what's going to happen and no one will listen to her. She screams at doctors about the infection, tells them to act faster, but none of them listen. They tell her she's being silly, that she's just a kid and that everything will be fine. She feels powerless and not even Libby will help her. In her dream, she walks up to her and tells her that she knows, but the woman refuses her in fear, telling her she doesn't know what she's talking about before she scurries away.

No one will listen and she wakes up screaming, screaming and sobbing, until she feels arms wrap around her, trying to pull her onto her back.

"It's just a dream," she hears Quinn whisper frantically. Santana doesn't stop sobbing into the pillow, her body reluctant as she shivers in the space between being conscious and not. "It's just a dream."

Quinn's voice is scared and her hands are timid, like she doesn't want to hurt Santana. It works in Santana's panic's favor as she manages to wrestle back against the bed, her body seizing with the sobs as she struggles to realize what's happening. Her head feels fuzzy, her body heavy. She still feels like she's under the influence of anesthesia and she's crying and she doesn't know why. The more she comes around, the more she cries into the pillow, and the hands that grab her scare her instead of comforting her until she's rushed into panic.

"Hey," Quinn says as she flails against Santana's body. "Hey, calm down... calm down..."

Santana doesn't. Her body curls into itself and when Quinn forcefully turns her, drags her onto her back, Santana can almost feel the wince of her body at how much she hates herself for doing it. She doesn't though, too swept up in her unconsciousness to care. Her mind feels like it's on fire and she knows there's something she's forgotten, something she's failed to do and she sobs because she can't remember what it is. Her body whimpers and aches for knowledge but she can't find it, too numb to try.

"Santana," Quinn says clearly, and Santana bats at the hands that try to hold her face steady as her limbs pull up into her body like an infant. "Santana," Quinn tries again, more forcefully this time. She starts tapping against Santana's cheek and Santana fights against it, fights to open her eyes, not even sure what her body is doing. "Santana, it was just a dream. Wake up."

But that's the thing. She doesn't want to wake up, she wants to go back to the dream where she still had a chance, where her grandmother was still alive, where everything wasn't broken.

She shakes her head and blinks a little when she feels something wet hit her cheek. "Santana," Quinn says and there's a hitch, the unmistakable sound of tears, rumbling in the back of her throat. "Santana, please wake up," she says. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

Santana doesn't know either and she just keeps crying as Quinn fights with her limbs. She drags at her hands, pushes at her legs but by the time she's got control of one, another is springing back into place. She sobs as she tries to wake Santana up but Santana just lays on her back and sobs, still immersed in two realities at one time, neither of them good enough.

"Please, Santana," Quinn begs. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how I'm meant to look after you unless you tell me..." Santana pays no attention and her hands reach for her face, hands clawing over her eyes as her body wars with itself. "Santana, come on." Hands grapple with hers, pushing them from her face. "Santana, come on, you're going to hurt yourself."

She wants to say that she doesn't care. She wants to say how she's wanted the internal pain to match the external for days. She wants to admit how she's felt nothing _but _pain and panic and worry for months, for years, but she doesn't know how. Whimpers leave her like breaths and her shoulders shake with the panic. She wants to explain to Quinn that she doesn't know what's happening.

"Goddamit, Santana," Quinn whispers and Santana groans as a body lowers to hers. Hands grip hers, feet kick against her legs until one is flat to the bed and the other is wrapped around Quinn's calf. "I can't do this, Santana," Quinn whispers as her head lowers to Santana's chest to press her down. "I can't do this... I don't have the energy... I don't..."

The sudden pressure to her body kicks off an instinctive response to buck. Santana's breath increases, her heart beating faster than she knew it could. The darkness behind her eyes grows blacker and she sobs. Her body feels feverish but numb, incoherent words leave her mouth and her eyes fight to open. Her eyes fight to break back into the world and remember but she can't.

She can't.

"Santana, please," Quinn begs. "Please, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help you."

Santana kicks against her, pushes at her body until Quinn is almost toppling off her to sprawl beside her, wincing when Santana pushes against the bandages on her arms. It makes her push back, until she's falling against Santana, winding her, their bodies locked tighter. Their noses clash together and Santana feels the first flicker of consciousness and calm return to her when warm lips graze her own.

Quinn must feel it too because all of a sudden, she's flinching, only barely pulling away before she's slowly leaning back in again.

Her lips meet Santana's gently, almost tentatively, like she's not entirely sure what she's doing. She pulls away, just as quickly, waiting for Santana to start fussing again, but she doesn't. Her heart beats wildly and her breathing enters and leaves her like a flicker, but her entire body calms as it soaks with confusion.

It leaves her quickly as the need to fight refills her limbs, but it never gets a chance to flourish as, at the first signs of it, Quinn leans down to kiss her again. It's softer this time but longer. Quinn kisses her as she struggles against the pull of Santana's wrists when they try to break free of her hold. She exerts more pressure against Santana's mouth when she tries to kick her legs free.

The more Santana fights, the more pressure Quinn puts against her mouth until her body stops struggling. Santana doesn't know how, but the sensation forces the last of her sleep away, brings her back into consciousness and leaves her with nothing more than simple confusion.

As Quinn leans down and kisses her again, she's struck by how she can think of nothing but the fact that Quinn's mouth is pressed against hers. There are no hospitals, no grandmothers, no cancer, no nurses, no women with kind green eyes and dark gray hair. There are no funerals and no parents, no friends and no worries. There's just Quinn's mouth and the pressure it gives, like its soothing everything with a balm, covering it over with a sheet.

Santana's eyes flicker open and she looks up at Quinn, finds her own shocked and confused eyes staring back at her, and knows that she notices the same thing.

All the burden just seems to disappear the minute their mouths touch, replaced with a warmth and affection that neither of them seems to appear to have realized they needed. But there's understanding too, like a tingle in Santana's body as she realizes that all this is is a perfect distraction.

It's exactly what they need: to feel comfort and kindness without having to talk about it, to fill that crater of emptiness and shit that sometimes doesn't need to be explained, just acknowledged.

Santana needs to be comforted in a way that words and hugs can't do. And she can tell, as she looks up at her best friend with dazed, confused eyes, that Quinn needs this too. She needs to feel something that isn't pain, that isn't aching.

She needs this distraction as well and that's why, when Quinn surges down to capture Santana's lips with her own, she doesn't argue. She just kisses back, trying to meet each kiss as equally as she can.

The newness takes her breath away. This isn't the Quinn she pecked at age fourteen during Spin the Bottle. This isn't the Quinn who led on all those boys and messed herself and them up in the process. No, this is a new Quinn, a desperate Quinn and—she thinks it with a strange level of pride—the most honest Quinn she's ever seen.

She kisses her recklessly, not holding anything back. Santana can feel the trust Quinn has in her with every single press of her mouth, every timid lick at her lips as she quietly asks for entry. She gives it because Quinn has been denied too much for her not to. As Quinn kisses her, she no longer feels like she's slipping away. Her best friend has never been more present and, after so much loss, she revels in it. She lets Quinn kiss her, lets her let go of her hands, that held her own against the pillows, and cup her cheeks as she tugs Santana up off the pillows.

The kiss is open-mouthed and sloppy with the lack of practice only a first kiss can have. Quinn gasps against her and holds her close, teases her, and Santana can't deny that she gets it. She gets why all those guys fawned over her. Quinn is gorgeous like this, hair messy and cheeks flushed. Santana's so swept up in the new sight and the feel of her, these new parts of her, that when Quinn pulls back from her it makes her gasp.

It barely lasts and her hands lift from the pillows to press to Quinn's thighs, to steady her as she sways, her own hands moving to unbutton her sleep shirt with shaky fingers.

Their kisses grow lazy, slow and Santana lets Quinn have control of it, enjoying how all she has to think about is reciprocating and nothing else.

That's until Quinn's shirt is shrugged off her shoulders, until it's being tossed off the side of the bed. She pulls away from Quinn's lips to look down at her body, to find what she's revealed. She almost wants to tease Quinn for the lacy bra she's wearing but she doesn't get a chance when Quinn's tilting Santana's chin back until their mouths meet, kissing her until Santana hears something else being thrown off the bed too.

She gasps at the thought and her brow furrows as something in her chest aches. Quinn's hands reach for her own, tentative as they lift her hands from sweatpant-covered thighs to her bare waist. Santana pants into the kiss, realizing what comes next as Quinn takes her right hand and slowly guides it up her stomach, before urging it to cover her breast.

Santana pulls her hand back a little but Quinn holds it there until she can't anymore and she lets it go to hold herself up. She keeps kissing Santana but Santana slowly realizes that it's getting harder for her to. Awareness seeps in and she slows them down as her hand lifts from Quinn's breast, to sit on her thigh again.

Quinn's other hand still holds onto hers on her hip and she tries to pull it away but Quinn holds fast. She urges Santana's hand to her sweatpants as their mouths part.

"Touch me," Quinn says and it's barely a whisper. Santana would barely hear it if it weren't for the fact that the sound echoes into her mouth. Her eyes open wide. "Santana..."

"Quinn..." she says, unprepared for the fear and terror in her voice, the discomfort.

Quinn kisses her hard and fast. "Just pretend I'm her," she says softly. "You can pretend I'm her."

Without thinking, Santana feels sick. The overwhelming sensation of discomfort and unfamiliarity hits her like a slap in the face as she realizes all the things she'd been avoiding. Her brain rushes with all the things she'd been trying to forget and she realizes that she didn't really want to forget them to begin with.

Suddenly, Quinn's hands on her body and her own hands on Quinn's don't feel right. Quinn's hands are too small, and her body is the wrong shape. Her mouth doesn't fit right and her body feels awkward in it's position held over Santana's. Her hair isn't bright enough, isn't soft enough and her skin isn't either. She looks at Quinn and, for the first time, the fact that her eyes aren't blue and that she doesn't have enough beautifully placed freckles feels like the most important thing in her universe.

And it's not even that. She feels like she's been giving away something that isn't hers to give, that doesn't belong to her anymore, and she feels an overwhelming rush of guilt, of shame, and tears burn in her eyes as she slowly presses her hands to Quinn's shoulders to stop her from leaning forward to kiss her again. She pushes her away and shakes her head.

She hates herself for taking so many steps back.

"I don't want to pretend anymore," she sobs brokenly and Quinn's face falls.

Santana shakes her head desperately as her chest heaves and pants for breath. She needs Quinn off her, she needs her to put her clothes on. She needs... she needs... she needs...

She gasps as Quinn climbs off of her and pulls her knees up to her chest. She gasps out a few sobs as Quinn moves to grab her shirt, to pull it over her shoulders. She buries her face into her knees and shakes her head softly as Quinn reaches out to console her. She looks worried and Santana's not entirely sure she knows how to explain.

It's just, she's been pretending her whole life. She's been pretending since before she can remember and she's tired. She's tired of putting those walls up. She's tired of building all that front and she doesn't see the point of doing such a thing when it achieves nothing. But, most of all, she's tired of pretending that she's not madly in love with Brittany, that Brittany isn't the only thing—the _only_ thing—she has ever and will ever need. She's pretended with boys for years. She's pretended and she's tried to convince herself that they're a suitable enough replacement but it's never worked. It will _never _work. She knows that now because every attempt to fill the place where Brittany lives in her chest has failed.

And, right now, that space has never been bigger.

"It's not the same," she whispers softly. Quinn narrows her eyes at her. "It's... it's not the same." She shakes her head. "I can't do that. I can't..." She gasps out. "I'm in love with her."

Quinn's eyes go wide. "I didn't..." she starts.

Santana shakes her head. "It wouldn't be fair," she says. "It wouldn't be fair to her. It wouldn't be fair to me." She looks up at Quinn. "It wouldn't be fair to _you_."

Quinn looks down at her hands. "I'm sorry."

Santana shakes her head. "No," she says and her voice chokes in her throat. "I am. I'm still being a shitty friend."

Quinn narrows her eyes. "Santana..." she whispers around a struggled laugh.

"No," Santana says. "I am. I am... There's stuff going on right now but you're my best friend and you're better..." She pauses as she tries to control her breathing. "You're better than this. You're more than a—a warm body that I can pretend with. You're my _best friend_ and I love you... I love you but I can't do this. I can't do that to you... to me... to him..." She shakes her head. "I can't do that to _her_." Quinn takes an unsteady yet understanding breath in. "I've made so many fucking mistakes and I won't let me and you be another one. You mean more to me than that." She looks at Quinn and rests her cheek on her knee. "You're my best friend, Quinn. I can't lose you too."

When she looks up Quinn is smiling a strange half-smile. She looks sad, too, and Santana sniffs and doesn't know what to do as the numbness replaces itself with unbearable longing and aching. She misses Brittany, she misses her grandmother, she misses the feeling like she had control of everything.

"Tell me what I need to do," Quinn whispers, her hand reaching to wrap around Santana's ankle.

Santana sniffs and then sobs into her knee. She shrugs and shakes her head. There feels like there's nothing.

Quinn breathes out and tugs at her ankle. "Tell me what you want me to do then," she says.

Santana sighs. "Just hold me," she asks quietly. "Please, can you just..."

Quinn wraps her arms around her and pulls her to lay against her. She squeezes her tightly, squeezes her until Santana relaxes into her and realizes she doesn't have to say anything else.

/

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispers a while later.

Santana has her cheek pressed to Quinn's shoulder, her arm thrown over her stomach and she feels sleepy. She guesses that's a good thing. When her pappy died, she couldn't sleep for a week. She blearily looks up at Quinn and narrows her eyes.

"For kissing you," she explains. "I..." she plucks at the back of Santana's shirt. "I wasn't thinking... I wasn't thinking about you or..." she trails off and smiles. "You know..."

Santana knows. She understands. For a moment, neither of them was.

"It's okay," she says, settling back into Quinn's shoulder. Somewhere along the line, Quinn pulled the covers over them and it only made her sleepiness worse. She feels guilty. She knows she's not supposed to sleep or eat or do anything yet, but she can't help it. She's glad Quinn's talking to her. It can take her mind off of things. "Who were you thinking of?" she asks.

Quinn takes a deep breath. Santana rises and falls with it.

"Artie..." she whispers. Santana doesn't look up, knowing it might scare her away. "I think... I mean..."

She trails off. Santana pinches her in the side.

"Say it," she instructs.

Quinn shakes her head. "I don't want to," she admits and, in Santana's opinion, that's just as good. "I'm not sure... He's..."

"Perfect for you?" Santana prompts. Quinn lets out a little giggle. Santana looks up but she can't quite manage a smile yet. "He's a good guy, Quinn."

Quinn's face drops. She turns away from Santana to look up at the ceiling and shakes her head. "That's why I don't want to say anything," she says. "What if I fuck it up?"

Santana sighs. "You won't."

"How do you know?" she asks on a breath. "How do you know that I won't cheat on him like I cheated on all the others?"

Santana pinches her again. She groans and slaps at the shoulder she has her hand rested on. She gives Santana a look but Santana just gives her the best version of a glare she can manage. Quinn scoffs at her.

"If you care enough to worry," Santana tells her. "That says enough. If you care enough to actively not want to hurt him you won't." Quinn gives her a look. Santana goes to pinch her but she grabs her hand. Santana shakes her head. "You're hopeless."

They lapse into silence. Santana turns her head to look at the same patch of the ceiling that Santana does. Santana finds herself wondering what happens from here. What's going to happen? She had everything planned out and now it's like it's been caught up in a blustery wind in the rain. All the words are blurred and she can barely make them out anymore. It's been ruined.

"What if he doesn't want me anymore?" Quinn says on a sigh. Santana's eyes snap to her. There are tears pouring down her cheeks. "What if he thinks I'm broken?"

Santana wants to tell her that he won't, that he's not like that, but she doesn't want to get her hopes up. She wants to give her hope and, as she reaches up to swipe a lone finger quickly under Quinn's eye, she does her hardest to try.

"Then he'll really not be the guy I thought he was."

/

She must have fallen asleep because she barely notices when there's a knock on the door and Quinn slips out from beneath her to open it. She hears talking but she ignores it, burying her head in the pillow until she hears one of the voices get closer.

"... no, it's good that she's sleeping," it says. "She needs the rest."

Her eyes open and she blinks away the sleep until she sees Libby standing at the bedside. Her smile is struggled but kind and she slumps to sit down on the edge of the bed. Santana looks at her and notices that she's no longer wearing her scrubs. She's not sure what she expected her to be wearing instead but she blinks at the old worn jeans and the plaid shirt that covers a v-neck t-shirt. She kinda reminds her of her grandma who spent her life dressed like a hippie. The thought makes her breath hitch.

"How're you feeling, sweetie?" she asks gently. Her finger moves forward to sweep hair from Santana's eyes. Her hands are covered in rings. She notices one as her grandmother's. It makes her want to smile but she can't just yet.

She nods instead and tries yet again not to think about how comfortable she feels around this woman. She doesn't want to say anything to her but she still, for some reason, wants to be around her. She makes her feel safe.

Libby's hand strokes over the back of her head. "You wanna head back?" she asks softly. "Everything's ready if you are."

Santana nods and, without asking, takes a deep breath and moves to rest her head in Libby's lap.

She's relieved when Libby doesn't even look shocked. Instead, she just lifts her hands and strokes one through Santana's hair as the other presses to her shoulder.

/

She struggles getting up from the bed.

It's the only thing she has to show that she's calmer. Her head still feels muddled and disconnected, her body empty, but feels more alert, as she blinks away the ache in her hips and legs.

She lets Quinn help her into her Chucks, lets Libby wrap an arm around her back as they guide her from the hotel. It's only when she's leaving it does she think to wonder how she even got there. She assumes that it has something to do with Uncle Frank as he offers to carry her to the car if she wants him to. She prefers to walk herself, with Quinn supporting her on one side and Libby on the other.

That's until she sees the black funeral home van sitting on the curb next to her car. It makes her falter a little and she's glad for Libby, guiding her quickly to the car and helping her in the back. She forces Quinn to sit in the front and climbs in after Santana. Santana sits there dumbly, trying not to look in the rear view where she can see the funeral directors standing around having a smoke.

"Don't look," Libby whispers softly, offering her one of the pillows that Quinn had used on their way here. She looks around and finds Santana's blanket on the back row, dragging it forward until she can wrap it around her. Her hands pause and reverently stroke over the rainbows that cover it with a smile, before throwing it over her and stroking Santana's cheek. "Get some rest," she says softly. "I'll wake you when we get there."

/

They're barely out of Miami by the time Santana turns her body towards Libby and reaches her hand out to see if she'll hold it.

Libby jolts, pulled from her reverie by the touch of Santana's hand on her knee, but smiles before taking the hand and moving it back to rest on the arm rest of Santana's chair.

She squeezes it softly and Santana falls asleep.

/

It's late afternoon by the time they get back to Key West. Santana can tell by the warmth of the sun and where it is in the sky. Uncle Frank pulls up somewhere and Santana doesn't look out of the window knowing where it is that they'll be. Instead she just looks at Libby and sighs, glad that Quinn's asleep in the passenger seat.

"Do you need somewhere to stay?" she asks quietly.

Libby looks at her. "I'm staying with Uncle Frank," she whispers. "I think he'd let you too if you wanted."

Santana shakes her head. "I want to go back to the house..." she whispers. "I want..."

Libby nods. Santana knows that she gets it. That she needs to be in the places where her grandmother has been but, for her, these places aren't here. She has no memory of Key West. She has no memory of wandering down Duval Street or getting ice cream at Mallory Square. The only beaches she has memories of her grandmother on are back in Miami but all of Santana's memories of her are here.

There's part of Santana that, as much as she wouldn't trade them for the world, wishes Libby had got to be a part of those memories too.

"You could stay with me," she says quietly. "If you wanted."

Libby smiles at her but shakes her head.

"It's okay," she whispers. "I'll stay with Frank."

Santana doesn't argue.

/

They pull into the drive and Santana's confused when Frank and Libby climb out with them, making their way to the porch instead of getting back in the car.

"We'll make sure you settle in okay," Frank says as way of explanation. Libby nods and helps her up the steps. "I could use some coffee."

/

It shocks her how quiet it is inside the house. Libby's arm remains wrapped around her as Quinn lets go of her and wanders across the entry way to check the kitchen. She comes back a second later, shaking her head. Uncle Frank drops their bags by the stairs and goes to check goes to check in the living room.

He shakes his head when he returns too and they all just stand there confused, wondering if they left, until they hear the back door slam and a gentle humming coming from a familiar mouth.

"Rachel?" Quinn calls softly. It follows a gasp and then the quick patter of feet before Rachel's emerging from the kitchen.

"You're back!" she says happily, her face the picture of surprise. "I thought that you were going to..."

She trails off when she catches sight of Santana, uncomfortable from the ache in her back, blank faced and quiet, clinging to Libby. Her eyes snap to Uncle Frank and Santana sees him shake his head out of the corner of her eye before Rachel's face falls.

"Oh, Santana..." she whispers in the quietest voice Santana's ever heard her use, before arms are reaching around for her and bringing her in for a hug. Santana grunts at the movement. Rachel gasps and pulls away. "Oh, God, I'm sorry..." she trails off again. Santana blinks and she steps back. Something crosses her features. "Go sit down," she says. "I'll... I'll go tell the others and make some tea."

/

Rachel makes tea... and coffee... and a fresh plate of cookies and some sandwiches. Santana hears her working around the kitchen, talking in hushed voices with the few of the others who venture to see her, asking her what's going on.

Santana just lays down on the couch with her head in Libby's lap and feet in Quinn's, staring at the ceiling. Frank sits in his usual armchair and he looks out-of-place where he should fit in.

Eventually, Rachel comes in with a tray of things that she puts down on the coffee table. Kurt follows in after her with another one, setting down them down how Rachel instructs. One by one, the others appear in the room and Santana feels like an exhibit at the zoo. She can feel their eyes on her, inquisitive and kind and she hates it. She hates this more than when they stared at her after Brittany left.

It makes her cry when Sam wanders over to her and reaches down to press a kiss to her forehead. He kneels down next to her and presses a hand to her arm, urging her forward until he can wrap his arms around her.

"I'm sorry, 'Tana," he whispers quietly into her ear. She sobs. "I'm so sorry."

/

She manages to sit through Uncle Frank telling them what happened. She watches Artie from across the room as he stares at Quinn and smiles at him gently when he catches her.

He mouths that he's sorry and she takes in a deep breath in response. She shrugs as discreetly as she can before nodding her head at Quinn. He looks shocked but then she lazily rolls her eyes at him and he gets the message.

He wheels across the room, unnoticed amidst the reverent conversation, and stops beside Quinn.

"Hi," she hears her whisper gently. He reaches forward and squeezes Quinn's hand on her ankle.

He smiles as gently as he can and Santana's shocked when he boldly leans forward and kisses her on the temple. "Hi," he whispers.

/

The conversation runs smoothly. Libby and Frank talk politely with the others, answering questions about things, about Santana's surgery, until Libby mentions growing up in New Orleans and Tina turns to her with a furrowed brow and says, "Wait, I'm confused. You're not Santana's grandmother's sister?"

It makes Santana's blood run cold and she feels a sudden burst of anger swell inside of her. Mostly at the stupidity.

"Wait," Finn says just as dumbly in response. "Yeah, who are you?"

Quinn squeezes her ankle and Libby's hand in her hair stops. Uncle Frank clears his throat and tries to get the attention back on him.

"Libby is..."

Santana shakes her head. "Don't explain to them," she says softly. The room is silent. "They don't need to know that. That's none of their business."

There's a pause and then Finn snorts.

"Jeez," he mutters. "Calm down, I just wanted to know why she was here..."

Santana scoffs and sits up. "What the fuck does it matter to you?" she asks, her voice louder than it's been in hours. "What the fuck is it your business what she's doing here? All you need to know is that..." Her voice fails her a little as the words fill her mouth and the tears come with them. "All you need to know is that she's important and she's got more right to be here than you. So—so mind your own fucking business, okay?"

Finn's mouth opens and closes quickly. He opens his mouth to speak but Rachel cuts through him.

"Go back to the pool house," she says sternly. He makes to argue. "Go _back_ to the pool house, Finn."

He scoffs as he stands up and slams the door as he leaves through the kitchen. Rachel gives Santana a struggled smile but Santana doesn't care. All she cares about is Libby.

"Are you okay?" she asks her softly. Libby smiles and tugs on her to lay back down.

She strokes Santana's hair again. "You're meant to be resting."

/

They leave when it's dark. Santana forces Quinn to help her to her feet and she walks them to the door ahead of the others, even as Libby tells her to go rest. Santana just shakes her head and stands by the door to watch them leave.

Santana's glad when Libby is the one who pulls her into a hug. She wraps her arms around her and presses a kiss to her forehead.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" she asks quietly, her hands clinging to the back of Libby's shirt.

Libby nods her head. "I can't, sweetie," she says as the others watch on. "We have things to talk through. I'll come see you tomorrow, okay?"

Santana nods as Libby releases her. Libby smiles at the others as they wave goodbye and nods politely.

"Take care of each other," she says softly and they all look at Santana before nodding.

/

"Are you hungry?" Rachel asks softly, as she takes up Santana's other side to help guide her into the kitchen. "I can make you something. I hope it's okay but I had to borrow forty dollars to buy more food. I didn't have enough of my own money... but I think I got all the things you like, just in case."

Santana shakes her head. "It's fine, Rachel," she says. "I just..." she breathes out as her legs ache with the strain. "I just need some water and some pills."

Artie wheels ahead of them to pull out a chair for Santana. She drops into it carefully, wondering if all this laying horizontal is really helping her legs. It just makes her feel stiff and achy. The car journey probably didn't help either.

"Do you want a bath?" Quinn asks. "We could run you a bath."

Santana knocks back the pills that Rachel hands her, swallowing them with water, before almost moaning at the thought.

"That would be good," she says and she's surprised at the emotion in her voice. "Really good."

/

"Don't get your bandages wet," Rachel chastises Quinn as she tries to dip her hands into the water to see if it's okay. Quinn pulls her hand back and rolls her eyes. "Help Santana get undressed."

Santana almost smiles when Quinn rolls her eyes and does as she's told.

"How hot do you want it?" Rachel asks as Quinn bends down to get her socks. Santana tells her she doesn't care as she breathes through the ache in her hips. "Are you okay?" Rachel says when she sees her. "I could... call a doctor."

"She's fine," Quinn says. "She's just not taken any pain pills today and it's catching up with her." She reaches to take of Santana's shirt off before she gets her pants. "There are some stronger pills in her bag. If these ones don't work I'll find them."

Quinn nudges Rachel when she needs her to help and Santana groans as Rachel lifts her under her arms as Quinn tugs down Santana's sweats and her underwear. Rachel looks away but Quinn just tosses Santana's clothes into the laundry basket. They help her over to the side of the bath and urge her to sit on it, Quinn lifting Santana's legs until her feet dangle inside the bath, the water pooling half-way up her shins.

"Get her bra," Quinn tells Rachel and Santana knows she's doing it for her for her own amusement, but doesn't have the energy to say anything. Rachel removes it quickly, tossing it in the same direction that Quinn had thrown her other clothes until they're left with the bandage covering her back.

"There's some more in my bag," she hisses as she supports herself with hands on her knees. "Just peel it off."

They do and Rachel gasps at the sight of her back. "God, you're purple," she says but then she's helping to ease Santana into the bath until the warm water covers her. She breathes a sigh of relief and her eyes droop closed in exhaustion.

Quinn brushes a hand over her head as she sinks deeper into the water. "The nurses said that she bruises worse because she's so small and scrawny." Rachel giggles a little.

Santana groans lowly. "Fuck off," she sighs and Rachel gasps as Quinn snorts.

"It's true," Quinn says and Santana's eyes flutter open as she feels her move to kneel beside the bath. "Do you need anything?" she asks softly. "Do you want me to wash your hair?"

Santana shakes her head. "No, it's okay, I can do it," she says. She gulps and looks at Quinn. "Do you think... you could leave me alone for a minute?"

Quinn looks shocked but she nods. She stands up without a word and leads Rachel out of the bathroom. She closes the door behind her and Santana's eyes flutter closed instantly. She lets everything overcome her: the past few days, the smell of the bath salts, the pain in her back, the longing in her chest. She lets them all overcome her as she lays in the bath, letting the water ebb over her body. She wishes she could wash it all away like a layer of dirt.

She opens her eyes because the bath feels too big for some reason. She looks around wondering if something has changed, if she's laying differently but she hasn't. She looks around, bewildered and confused, and tries to remember the last time she used the tub. When she remembers, her breath hitches and her skin feels cold. How could she forget?

How could she forget warm limbs and an even warmer body, soft fingers and gentle hands squeezing water over her body to keep the goosebumps away?

She picks up the sponge at the edge of the bathtub and drops it into the water, grasps for it when it's soaked and saturated, and lifts it out. She watches the water drip back into the bath and sighs shakily. It's not the same.

Her fingers reach to touch the ends of her hair as she remembers how it had been tied atop her head. It's all damp now—wet and wavy at the back—and Santana doesn't think before she sinks under the water to soak it through. It's a good distraction. Washing her hair is a distraction, even if her entire body aches when she moves. The scent of her shampoo helps her to forget the smell of hospital that still lingers in her nose. The water helps to wash away the iodine solution that still stains parts of her skin and helps her get one step closer to pretending that her surgery never happened. She wishes it was that easy with the stains that coat her inside.

When she's done, she leans back against the tub, wincing when the cold of it hits the back of neck. It jolts her, her wince turning into a whimper and, the more she tries to fight it, her whimper turning into a sob. She leans forward, letting the water drip from her as she sits up, and rests her face in her palms.

The deep breaths aren't enough to stop her from crying, nor is the way she presses her fingers to her eyes to try and keep them away.

She gives in when her body starts to shudder in warning and cries openly, wishing things were different.

/

"I don't think I can sleep in here," she says suddenly, catching herself as well as Quinn and Rachel off-guard. They look up from where they're helping her get ready for bed and look at her. She looks around herself at her grandmother's things, her records and pictures and... it's too much. She shakes her head. "I _can't_ sleep in here," she whispers and they look at each other before nodding.

"It's okay," Rachel says softly. "The boys fixed up Quinn's room, so you can sleep in there, if you want to."

Santana shakes her head and coughs to clear her throat. "I want to sleep in—in..." she shakes her head. "I want to sleep in the other room," she says and they look away from each other this time before nodding their heads.

/

Rachel turns to her when Quinn leaves the room to go get ready for bed.

"I, um," she starts softly. Santana looks up at her. "When the boys fixed up Quinn's room, we decided to clean the house and..." she pauses and clears her throat with a timid cough. "I was tidying your bed, when I found this shirt." She reaches behind her and pulls the UPenn shirt from under the pillow. Santana gulps and her fingers twitch for it automatically. "I was going to wash it, but... well, I remembered that I saw Britt—Brittany wearing it before she left and decided I'd wait..."

She reaches forward and presses it into Santana's shaking hands without another word. Santana runs her fingers over it before fisting her hand into the fabric, wishing it was wrapped in the warmest body she knows.

"Thank you," she whispers softly and when she looks up at Rachel there's judgment in her expression, just a kind smile.

She pairs it with a squeeze of Santana's hand.

"You're welcome," she intones quietly and Santana thinks that maybe Quinn was right.

Maybe Rachel Berry cares about her.

/

The sheets smell like Brittany, the UPenn t-shirt in her hands smells like Brittany. All she can smell is Brittany and she doesn't know if she feels at ease or more awake because of it, just that she's been laying here for an hour and she still isn't asleep yet.

She barely even looks when the door creaks open and Quinn appears. If anything, she feels relieved, even more so when Quinn doesn't say anything, just crawls into the bed behind her and wraps her arms around her.

They lay there for a while before Quinn laughs softly.

"Doing this feels weird without her," she says in a low voice. "Since we were fourteen, whenever I've spooned with you, it's been a Santana sandwich and I'm never the big spoon." Santana's mouth quirks. Quinn nestles her chin into her shoulder. "I wish she were here," Quinn says so only she can hear it.

Santana nods and clutches the UPenn t-shirt tighter. "Me too."

/

It's been a while since she woke up when Quinn groans and rolls onto her back beside her. The clock beside her on the nightstand says that it's just past seven and Santana doesn't look at her as her eyes flicker open reluctantly. Instead, she closes her eyes.

She had that dream again, the one where she replayed everything but the time everyone believed her but her grandmother still died. She hates her brain and she hates how wired it is, even after barely enough sleep.

"You awake?" Quinn asks, her voice thick with sleep. Santana nods, still running her fingers over the letters on the shirt. "Did you sleep okay?"

She shakes her head then. Quinn leans up a little to look at her, looks down at the shirt that now lays between them and seems to be thinking things over when she puts her hand over Santana's.

"Go back to sleep," she says softly. "You need to rest."

"Can't," Santana whispers, thinking about all the things she doesn't know the answer to. All the things she's yet to learn but to scared to. "You can, though," she says. "It's still early."

Quinn looks at her a moment before slowly resting her head back down on the pillow. Her hand reaches out to press over Santana's and she stops tracing the letters a second later.

"Just lay down," Quinn whispers and Santana does as she's told, letting Quinn hold her hand. She holds it tight enough that Santana wouldn't dare let go. "Just lay down for a minute."

/

"Santana..." A hand brushes over her cheek. "Santana, sweetie..."

Her eyes flutter open lazily and she looks up at the person perched on the edge of the bed beside her. She's wearing the same plaid shirt and jeans she was wearing the day before but the t-shirt beneath it is different. Santana just blinks slowly before nudging forward a little to get closer to her.

"What time is it?" she asks quietly.

"Almost ten," Libby tells her, pulling the covers up around her shoulders a little. "Quinn said you didn't get much sleep."

Santana shakes her head. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle husk. She doesn't know what it is about Libby that makes her feel calmer, softer. "I'm not supposed to sleep. I'm not supposed to eat or... do anything, really..." She clears her throat. "That's what she would have wanted, right? For me to do everything the traditional way?"

Libby breathes out and runs her hands over the covers. "I think she would have wanted you to do whatever you needed to do," she says. "I think she'd want you to do what makes you happy... and safe."

Santana nods but she wants to ask how she's meant to feel happy and safe, when everything's still falling apart. Brittany's gone, her abuela's gone. Her parents are going to... well, she doesn't know what but whatever it is it's going to happen eventually. She wants to tell Libby that she's scared but it's not her problem. Santana's shit isn't her problem.

"Frank's downstairs," Libby says quietly. Santana looks up at her and she continues. "Your friend, the one who made the sandwiches yesterday, is making the biggest breakfast I've ever seen. She was pulling out skillets the minute we came through the door. She doesn't look like she knows what to do, poor thing, but she asked me to come get you to see if you wanted to eat something."

Santana shakes her head. "I'm not hungry."

Libby smiles. "I didn't think you would be," she admits. "But I wanted to come up here so I could ask you if you'd come somewhere with Frank and me today away from your friends."

The request makes her a little nervous and she pulls her hand from beneath the covers to play with one of the rings on Libby's fingers. She lets her, face pulling up into a tiny smile and watches for a few moments before responding.

"Frank wants you to see your abuela's lawyer," she says softly. Her fingers flex as Santana twists the metal on her finger. "And then we have an appointment with the priest."

Santana nods and looks up softly. She clears her throat just in case any tears were thinking of creeping up on her. She doesn't think they will. "Father Fuentes?" she asks softly. Libby shrugs her shoulders like she's not sure but Santana thinks there couldn't be anyone else. She nods. "Okay," she says. "Sure."

/

It's raining when she opens the drapes in her grandmother's room, the insistent but lazy summer kind of rain that falls thick and steady with no signs of stopping.

Libby lingers in the doorway behind her and Santana turns to look at her curiously, giving her a questioning look when she makes no move to come closer.

"It's not how I thought it would be," Libby says softly.

Santana looks around and narrows her eyes. "Have you... never been to this house before?"

She shrugs. "I never asked to see it and she never brought me," she explains around a laugh. "This was... this was her home for a long time. I thought that I would be reminded of all the things I missed if I came here, that I would feel like I barely knew her at all but..."

"It's her all over?" Santana finishes. Libby smiles and nods.

"With her silly drapes and her records and her... God, her damn candles," she reaches over to touch one. "She was always buying damn candles."

Santana smiles for the first time since it happened. "I'm the same," she says softly as she steps over to the dresser to look through her clothes. She thumbs through all of them before pausing. "Do I... have to dress up?"

Libby snorts at that. "No, sweetheart," she says softly. "I don't think what you're wearing really matters."

/

Libby's laughter makes sense when they step into the lawyer's office and he's wearing a Hawaiian shirt, khaki pants and wicker sandals. There's a large cigar hanging out of his mouth and he chokes on it when he sees them coming through the door. Santana almost wants to laugh when he pulls a black suit jacket from off the back of his chair and slips it on before stepping forward to meet them.

"Frank," he says, holding out his hand and then slapping Frank amiably on the arm when he takes it. "I'm so sorry, old friend," he says kindly before turning his attention to Libby. "Ms. Ballet," he says, holding out his hand. "How are you holding up?"

Libby nods and shakes it. "I'm..." she nods again, struggled. "I'm okay."

The man then turns his attentions to her. "And you must be Santana," he says kindly and she notices his thick New York accent for the first time. "I'm so sorry we're meeting under such sad circumstances." He offers her his hand and she takes it timidly. "I'm Marty Allen Epstein. I'm your grandmother's attorney."

She nods, overwhelmed all of sudden. She lets Libby press a hand to her back and guide her into one of the chairs around the man's desk. She sits in the middle and worries her hands in her lap as Epstein walks around to the other side of his desk and begins looking through piles of papers. She stops when Libby reaches over to offer her hand and takes it greedily, wrapping their hands together.

"Now, Santana..." Epstein says as he leans back into his chair. He finds a pair of dark, thick-framed glasses and pushes them up his nose. Santana pushes against the bridge of her own nose subconsciously, only to find she's wearing her contacts. "How much do you know about your grandmother's estate?"

Santana looks around, confused. She clears her throat. "Her estate?"

"Her belongings," Frank tells her softly. "Like the house and everything..."

Santana nods and shakes her head. She doesn't know anything. Epstein nods at her like he thought as much.

"Well, do you know anything about your grandfather's will?" Epstein asks instead.

Santana shakes her head again, suddenly feeling silly and guilty and sick. "I was... fourteen when he died."

"Well, your grandfather left all his belongings to your grandmother," Epstein tells her. "All of it."

Santana looks at him and nods. She was prepared to be bombarded with legal jargon but she's confused already and she's not actually sure if he's used any. She looks nervously around at Libby and Frank, only to find them staring back at her expectantly.

"Okay..." she nods and waits. Libby squeezes her hand tighter. She laughs because she realizes that she's shaking a bit. "Sorry, I'm just..." she pauses. "I'm a bit confused."

"We brought you here now because we wanted you to understand your rights," Frank tells her. Santana looks at him and her eyes narrow as she mouths the word 'rights' at him to make sure she's understood. "We wanted you to be reassured that, if anything... bad should happen with your parents, that you don't need to worry."

She looks at Libby this time, knowing that she'll probably offer more comfort. "What—what are you talking about?"

"Your inheritance," Epstein says.

"My..." she trails off as she feels herself become breathless. Libby notices quickly and leans over to rub her shoulders. Santana's voice hitches as she speaks. "Oh—okay."

Epstein smiles calmly, like he sees this all the time. He pushes his glasses to the end of his nose and leans forward on his forearms to rest on the desk. He peers over the top of them at her before pushing a bundle of papers forward closer to Santana.

"Your grandparents were very specific," he says gently. "Very, very insistent that everything they own belongs to you in the event of both their deaths." Santana's eyes go wide. "There's the house and its profits, everything inside of it, your grandparents' belongings, your grandmother's car, and a very respectable fortune."

"F-f-fortune?" she says and Libby's hand presses at her chest. Santana can hear her counting her pulse almost subconsciously under her breath as her thumb sweeps over Santana's collarbone. Santana gulps as the sudden need to vomit washes over her. "What... what about my parents?" Libby's hand grips hers tighter before she clears her throat and forces her fingers to lock through Santana's. "What do they get?"

Epstein looks at Frank before he smiles awkwardly. "They don't get anything, Santana."

"Why?" she asks and she doesn't know why. "Is it... is it because of what they did?"

It's Frank that answers. "It was Pappy's idea," he says softly. "Not Abuela's. They... they didn't want you to have to worry about anything. They didn't want you to have to be forced into anything that you didn't want to do. They wanted you to be comfortable and safe enough to look after yourself if the case arose that you needed to."

"I don't... I don't understand," she whispers and she feels like she's missing something integral to her understanding of what's going on. "I don't..."

"Your Pappy..." Frank breathes out a laugh. "He was proud of your dad, and your dad has always worshipped the ground that he walked on, but he was so disappointed in him. All the time he was disappointed at him for how little he understood things, how little respect he had but how much he expected. You know, he wanted your dad to take over the clinic for him? He wanted him to run it after he retired and keep it going but your dad just... he wants to be a doctor for the wrong reasons. He does _everything _for the wrong reasons and well..."

"So, they were punishing him?" she spits.

"No," Frank says and his voice catches. "Not at all," he whispers. "They were making sure that you would be safe..." he pauses and pulls his chair closer to hers so he can hold her hand. "If your dad did something for the wrong reason."

She thinks she understands but she doesn't like it. She looks at Libby with wide eyes and she panics because, is it that obvious? Did her pappy know about her? Did her abuela know about her all the way back then? Santana feels her chest heaving with panic as everything begins to unravel even more. She wants to wrap her arms around herself but before she can, Libby's wrapped around her, hushing her quietly.

"Did—did he..." she tries. "Do they... _oh God_..." she gasps. "I can't..."

"He didn't know," Libby whispers softly. "He didn't know. It wasn't because of that. You know, don't you," Libby says. "how much everyone says you're like your abuela? You know that."

Frank nods in agreement and Epstein sits quietly at his desk and waits for them. "He didn't know about that," Frank says. "But he knew that you were just like your abuela. How reckless, and caring and... selfless, you are." Santana whimpers. "Well, your daddy doesn't see that, Cookie. Just like he didn't see that with your abuela." He clicks his tongue. "You know how they were. They were _always_ fighting about something, about how she was always doing something he didn't want her to, and Pappy just... he just wanted to keep you safe if there was something you wanted to do that your daddy didn't like."

Santana nods gently as she slowly comes to understand. She thinks, quietly, of all the different things she wants to do that she knows her father won't like, how they'll make him unhappy. She wonders how much that matters now she knows how truly unforgiving he is. She wonders if even trying to keep him happy is worth it when she knows she won't be.

"Okay," she sniffs and shrugs their limbs off of her, suddenly overwhelmed by the burden of them. "Okay, carry on, Mr. Epstein," she says with a sniff.

He smiles kindly. "Please," he says. "Call me Marty."

/

Father Fuentes has always scared her a bit. He's tall and large and... Cuban. He speaks to her in too-fast Spanish she can't really keep up with most of the time and still treats her like she's the tiny baby he christened when she was a baby.

She sits in silence as they drink black, unsweetened coffee in his office and listens to Frank and Libby relay her grandmother's wishes. It's kind of a blur and she looks out across the courtyard at cars driving past and people walking by and wishes she was someplace else.

"Santana?" Libby says softly. "Are you okay? You haven't said much."

She shakes her head and nods at the same time. "I just..." She does it again. "I don't know."

Libby pushes her hair from her eyes and tugs some wayward strands away from getting caught in the buckles of her overalls. She looks at her for long moments and, for a second, Santana's reminded of her grandmother, holding her at arm's length every time they saw each other again.

"Do you want to go for some air?" she asks softly. Santana nods and Libby's out of her seat in a second. "Are you okay here, Frank?" she asks as she holds her hand out to help Santana.

He nods and presses his palm against the folder in his hands. "Got everything we need."

She squeezes his shoulder. "Don't wait for us," Libby says. "We'll walk back."

/

Libby asks no questions when Santana leads them down the street from the church to the cemetery. She just walks beside her quietly, watching her out of the corner of her eye, as Santana uses the paths provided to reverently walk among the graves to find the plot she's looking for.

As they approach it, Libby hangs back and waits for Santana to do what she needs to do.

"Hey, Pappy," she says softly. She steps around the outline of the grave to get to the headstone before leaning down to kiss it. "Sorry, I haven't been to see you in a while. You probably already knew but things have been... kinda crazy."

She drops into the patch of grass between her grandfather's plot and the next and pulls her knees up to her chest.

"So, if you don't mind," she says on an exhale. "I think I'm just gonna sit with you a while."

/

After a while, Libby steps over and sits down opposite her. She stretches her legs out in front of her, and looks at the headstone, taking in the "_beloved husband, father, grandfather and friend_" before turning to Santana.

"I haven't seen your pappy in almost fifty years," she says softly. She scrunches up her nose. "I was better looking then."

Santana tries to smile but it doesn't work too well. Instead she rests her chin on her knee and stares down at the grass. It's sunny now, the sun too hot and claustrophobic, and she eyes where it's made the blades brown and dry.

"Talk to me," Libby requests.

Santana looks up and pauses but then she figures, if anyone's going to know the answers to her questions, it'll be Libby.

"So he just..." she whispers. "He knew that Abuela had cheated on him all that time and he just took her back? He just took her back even though he knew she loved you so..." She purses her lips looking for the right word. "...completely?" She breathes out. "Was he happy? Were they happy, do you think? I hate to think that they weren't happy for almost fifty years. It feels like..." she shakes her head until her hair falls in her eyes. "It feels like a really long time to be unhappy."

Libby sighs. Santana stares over her shoulder to where an old lady puts flowers down on a grave.

"They were happy," Libby says with a nod. "They were happy." She laughs unexpectedly. "Your grandfather loved your abuela _so much. _So much. He didn't... he didn't care about what she'd done. He didn't... He knew about us for months—_months—_and he never said anything. I think that he would have forgiven her anything because he just... he wanted to _be _with her so badly." Santana watches her speak with awe. "I remember when I handed him your father. The look on his face was so scared. _So _scared. And it wasn't because he was a father. It was because he was scared that he might end up _not_ being a father. You could see it in his eyes. He thought he'd lost but he hadn't. That's when I realized that your grandmother was doing the only thing to be done." Tears roll down her cheeks and she laughs. "It made leaving easier because I wasn't doing it for her anymore. I was doing it for him and your father, too. He was the only person I ever trusted could look after her better than I could and he did. He _did_. And that made waiting easier, too... because I knew she was being loved how she deserved to be."

Santana sniffs and shakes her head. "But—but did she love him? Did she..."

"Yes," Libby says emphatically. Her eyes are stern and sure and there's disappointment in them too. Like admitting that is hard, like it makes everything a million times more difficult. "She loved him and that's why she could never do the wrong thing by him."

"But..." Santana starts and she feels mean for saying it. "She came looking for you."

Libby smiles and it's coy. Santana shifts back from it.

"Only because he told her to," she says with a break in her voice. Her hand falls to rest over the grass that covers her grandfather's grave. "I think," she says softly. "He knew I'd look after her."

Santana gasps out a laugh and when she turns back to Libby, she's smiling. She shakes her head and then shrugs.

"Just like she knew I'd look after you," she nods and Santana feels her breath hitch.

"Yeah?"

Libby nods. "Yeah," she says and she pulls her hand back into her lap. "She called you Cookie, right? Your abuela?"

Santana rolls her eyes and then wipes her cheeks. "Yeah," she says. "Everyone does, but she started it. I was premature when I was born and it was... well, they didn't think I'd make it but she never gave up. She always said that I was..."

"'One tough cookie'," she smiles. "I know. She told me."

Santana rolls her eyes again. "She tells everyone."

Libby clears her throat and then, when she looks at Santana, her eyes are wide and clear, sparkling with tears.

"She told me seventeen years ago," she goes on and Santana's jaw drops. She's about to ask how but Libby shakes her head. "She wrote me a letter. The first words I'd heard from her in over thirty years and she wrote me to tell me all about you and about how absolutely beautiful you are. She wrote me and there was no reply address, no... no nothing. I didn't even know how she'd even got my address but there it was one morning." She waits and takes steady breaths, looking away from Santana. "When she found me, I asked her why she did that. It felt so cruel, like the nastiest thing in the world, but she turned to me and she explained that she never meant it to hurt. She said 'Don't you see, she could have been ours. She _should_ have been ours.' And I realized then that she wasn't telling me what I didn't have; she was making sure I knew what I _did_ have and that's why I'm here if you need me." She looks at her softly. "For as long as I can be, I will be there for you to help you with whatever you need."

Santana blinks out and chokes when she realizes she's crying. Without thinking and without wiping her tears away, she shuffles forward and reaches for Libby's hand. She takes it quickly, holding it uncertainly, possessively in her own.

"I'd like that," Santana whispers, not sure if she heard. She nods her head. "I would really like that."

/

She's laying in Libby's lap, the sun too bright to keep her eyes open, when Libby's hand stops where it's been stroking her hair.

Her eyes squint open and she looks up at her, confused, only to see her looking down curiously. She smiles after a moment and scratches her fingers in Santana's scalp.

"Did you open the safe yet?" she asks quietly.

Santana blinks for a moment, not sure what she's meant to say. She told Quinn they shouldn't have opened it. She _told _her.

Libby laughs at her wide eyes and Santana finds her cheeks turning pink with guilt.

"I'll take that as a yes then," she chuckles.

Santana rolls her eyes. "It was Quinn's idea," she explains. "That weed was really good, you know, even if it did have a naked picture of you in it."

Libby snorts and pats her on the cheek. Santana scrunches her nose.

"But did you open her will?" she asks quietly.

Santana blinks, terror tingling up her spine and into her skull. "Do I need to anymore?"

Libby takes a deep breath. "Yes, sweetheart, you do."

Santana reaches for her other hand and clutches it to her chest. She feels like she's going to cry when she asks. "More surprises?"

Libby smiles and squeezes her fingers. "Better ones," she says softly.

It's all Santana needs to hear before she's letting go and reaching for her new purse. Libby watches her carefully as she reaches inside and pulls out the envelope. Retrieving it had been one of the only things she could think to do as she laid in bed the night before, wondering what she was supposed to be doing. She was sure that it would tell her but the minute it had been in her hands, she'd froze up. She'd walked back to where Quinn was sleeping and shoved it into her bag when she'd noisily rolled over. And now here it is, a little more crumpled at the edges, but just as scary.

Libby nudges her hands. "Come on," she nods. "You won't regret it, I promise."

Santana looks up at her nervously but there's something incredibly calming about her green eyes. One hand presses to Santana's shoulder, while the other rests in her hair and Santana turns the envelope around over and over again until she can gather the courage to open it. Libby giggles.

"It's okay," she says and Santana believes her.

She pries her finger beneath the edge of the envelope and tugs at it until one side is open. She breathes uneasily but easier than she would be if Libby's hand wasn't stroking through her hair. She rests it against her stomach and pushes her hand inside of it to pull out all the things inside.

She's not surprised by the copy of her grandmother's will—or yet another wad of twenties—but the two inner envelopes, one sealed, and one opened, catch her off guard.

Santana goes for the unopened one first but Libby shakes her head. "That..." she says. "That you should read when you're by yourself."

Santana trusts her, so she doesn't push it and puts the envelope back inside the bigger one. Libby takes the opened envelope from her and takes out the paper that's inside.

"This," she says. "is what you need to see."

Santana looks up at her as she takes the paper and the expression that she sees is new to her. It looks like pride and Santana doesn't understand why she would be looking at her with pride until she unfolds the paper and reads what it says.

It makes her gasp.

Of all the surprises she's had in the past few days, she's glad that she's happy about this one. Tears form in her eyes and she looks up at Libby like she's not sure that it's real but Libby's just grinning at her, eyes bright and smiling, as she looks down into Santana's wide and shocked ones. She wipes away her own tears and then strokes away the ones Santana didn't even know she was crying yet.

"How..." Santana manages breathlessly as she clutches the paper like a life-raft. "How did..."

Libby just shakes her head. "It doesn't matter," she says happily. "It doesn't matter."

Santana gasps again and she lifts the paper from her chest to read it again. It doesn't feel real. It feels like... she doesn't know what it feels like because it feels so new. All she knows is that it feels _good_.

Libby bends down and presses a kiss to her forehead. Santana looks up at her with utter disbelief. She thinks it'll be a while before she's used to this.

"The thing about fate," Libby says softly. Her eyes are watery. "is that people think that it solves everything. Fate is not a sure thing, Santana. Sometimes..." she breathes. "Sometimes, we have to make things happen ourselves too."

/

They spend the day together, Libby asking Santana to show her around the town until Santana gets bored of showing her all her favorite places and takes her to a small cafe she's never been to before.

She sits down and takes the pain pills from Libby before asking her to tell her things.

Libby laughs. "Why?"

"Because I want to get to know you better," Santana says. "I want to know the person that my grandmother was in love with."

She pauses and takes a steadying breath. Libby reaches for her.

"She barely got to do that for me," she says. "But I'd like to do it for her."

Libby looks at her with understanding. Santana knew she would.

"What do you want to know?" she asks softly.

Santana smiles. "Everything."

/

It looks like it's going to rain again when her phone buzzes in her pocket. She narrows her eyes and lifts it out, confused when she sees Quinn's name on the front.

"What—"

"You need to come back," Quinn says in a hushed voice. "Now."

Santana doesn't even get to ask what's wrong before Quinn's hanging up.

/

"Quinn?" She calls as she steps in through the door, eyes narrowed. "Quinn, where are you?"

The house is quiet again and Santana moves swiftly forward to check the kitchen. Libby follows behind her with a hand on her back, quietly, telling her to be careful like they haven't been walking around together all day. She smiles and steps around her to get back into the entryway, sighing as she calls Quinn's name again before opening the door to the living room.

"Quinn?" she says before her voice trails off.

It's like everything goes in slow motion as everything rushes back to her. She freezes in the doorway and she's not sure how she missed the suitcases by the door, the black suit jacket thrown over them. Her eyes narrow and for the first time she realizes how angry she is. It's only reiterated when her father stands up from his place in the armchair across the room and points to the woman beside her.

"What the hell is she doing here?" he says and she doesn't get to hear her father angry much but, when she does, she sure as hell knows it. "Santana, get away from that woman right now."

The first thing Santana notices is how suddenly level-headed she is, how calm she feels, how right she knows she deserves to be for the first time in her life. She reaches down and laces her fingers with Libby's, clutches them close so that Libby can't do something ridiculous like approach her father or walk away. Her father's eyes widen because of it and her mother stands up beside him, a hurt, offended look on her face as she presses a hand to her father's back.

"I'm going to go upstairs," Santana says as softly as she can, trying to keep the waver from her voice. "I'm going to go upstairs and if you're not gone by the time that I get back down, I will somehow manage to _throw _you out."

Her father's eyes darken with anger and something else. She doesn't have the energy to determine what it is.

"Understood?" she says and, without waiting for an answer, pulls on Libby's hand and leads her upstairs.

/

"Calm down," Libby says as Santana paces backwards and forwards, her breathing uneven and heavy. "Breathe."

Santana's arms flail at her sides and she rubs at her face as she feels the adrenaline tingle down to the tips of her fingers.

"Santana..."

She gasps out. "I can't..." she whines.

Before she can do anything else, Libby grabs hold of her fingers, pulls her towards her, wraps one arm around her back before pressing the other to her chest. Santana gives in, listens as Libby counts her pulse. It's surprisingly calming and she finds herself counting along with her, the discipline of it better to concentrate on than the recklessness of her panic.

Libby hums and hushes her still and she leans forward to rest her forehead against her cheek.

"Don't get upset," Libby whispers. "Concentrate and you'll be okay." Santana nods and wraps her arms around Libby's waist. Libby tightens her hold. "Do you want me to call Uncle Frank?"

She shakes her head. "I just..." She whimpers. "They're my parents."

Libby nods. "I know, I know," she says. "And you want to make them proud and do right by them. You want to do what they want you to do because you think they know best but you know that's not true, right?" She moves her hand from Santana's chest to cradle the back of her head. "You know that, don't you?"

Santana nods because if there's anything she's learned recently, it's that just because someone thinks they know better, doesn't mean they do.

"Thanks," she whispers.

Libby shakes her head and holds her closer.

/

They're still there half an hour later, stood pacing the bottom of the stairs like lions, when she walks down the stairs. Frank is stood there too, face like thunder, and Santana looks at Quinn to see her clutching her cell phone in her palm like it knows all the answers.

"I'm not going to tell you again," her father says when he sees her. "Get away from that woman now, or I will damn make you."

She shakes her head. "No," she says softly. She turns to Libby and holds out a hand to halt her halfway down the stairs. "I won't."

"Santana—" her father says exasperatedly. "Don't you understand what that woman has done to our family? Do you understand that it's her fault that your grandmother..."

"No," Santana says and she's so exhausted she's almost bored. "No, you can stop that right now. You can stop with your bullshit and your lies and you can stop calling her 'that woman' because she has a fucking name. It's Libby and she has absolutely no fault in any of this whatsoever. The only person here to blame is you so I'm not going to ask you again. Get out or I will make you get out."

"You will do no such thing," her father says. "And I promise you, young lady, the minute we're back home, you're grounded."

"No."

"Santana..."

"Get out."

"Santana Elena Lopez, you—"

"GET OUT!"

She gasps for her breath back and when she looks around, everyone in the entryway from Frank, to her parents, to Quinn and Artie and Rachel stood by the kitchen, look like she just slapped them in the face.

Her father steps forward. He looks embarrassed. "Santana Elena Lopez, I swear to God, I will not stand for you talking to me like this."

"Don't say her name," Santana spits. "Don't say her name in her home, even if you're saying mine. You don't..." she trails off. "You have no right."

"I have every right." her father says. "I have every right." Her father looks around him. "I told you," he says to her mother. "It's this place. It's this house, it's..." He holds his hands up. "It's toxic. I'll be glad to be rid of it and a few million dollars in pocket, that's all I'm damn saying."

Frank chokes out a laugh. "Like hell you will."

Her father rounds on Frank. "You have something to say, Francisco? Is there more business that doesn't concern you that you'd like to butt into?"

"God," Santana laughs mirthlessly. "Leave him alone, too. Jesus."

Her father shakes his head at Frank before turning back to Santana. She refuses to look at him.

"Santana, tell you friends to pack their things," he says. "Tell them it's time for them to go home."

She scoffs. "No."

"Santana, do as you're told!" he shouts and Santana wants to slap her mother for pressing her hands comfortingly to his back. "As of yesterday, this house belongs to me, so what I say goes and I want you and all of your friends with their bags, in the entryway ready to leave, now."

Santana blinks away the tears and repeats _don't get upset, don't get upset_ to herself over and over again. She shakes her head.

"You disgust me," she chokes. "You disgust me more than anything's ever disgusted me in my life. I have never been..." She takes a breath. "I have never been more ashamed to call someone my family than I have right at this very moment. The only person leaving this house is you because you wanna know something? It doesn't belong to you. It belongs to me. So get the fuck out."

That stops him. "What?"

Santana shakes her head. "It's my house. My house. My money. My car. My fucking everything. Nothing here is yours. Not anymore. Abuela left everything to me so, you can leave now if that's all you fucking care about. Sorry to disappoint you, you heartless asshole."

He laughs and she watches with folded arms as her father laughs and nods in disbelief. "God, that bitch," he mutters under his breath. He shrugs it off. "You know what? Whatever. You're a minor. Therefore it still belongs to me. I want you and your friends and _that_ _woman_ out of here in the next hour."

Santana drops down to sit on the stair behind her.

"That'd be great, Lou," Frank mutters. "If your mother hadn't put me in charge of managing Santana's inheritance instead of you." Santana covers her face with her hands and feels Libby sit down beside her, a hand on her back. "So, until Santana's twenty-one, this house is in my charge."

Her father laughs and she shakes her head because it makes her feel sick. Libby whispers soft things to her. Santana can hear her whispering for her not to get upset but it gets harder the longer her father stays.

"This is all your fault," her father says suddenly and she looks up to see him pointing at Libby. "You and her and your fucking pathetic, childish selfishness have ruined a family. Do you realize that? You've ruined my life. You've ruined my daughter's life and my mother is dead because of you. I hope you're happy with that on your—"

The sound of her hand as it hits her father's cheek scares her more than anything else. She gasps and her eyes go wide as her father staggers back. She watches him, eyes how he clutches his hand to his cheek and looks at her like he can't believe she just did that. Santana's almost scared for a moment before she realizes she has nothing to be scared of. Her father is just a sad, pathetic little boy.

"Santana..."

"The only person here to blame for _your mother's_ death is you," she struggles out tearfully. "_YOU!_" She spits. "You are the person who kept her from me, you are the person who refused to help her because she _fell in love_ with someone." Santana groans and she wants to punch something as she tries to breathe through the disappointment. Tears stream down her cheeks. "She was your _mother_. She gave up everything for you. She gave up _everything_ so that you would have a better life and you betrayed her and refused to help save her life. You're a fucking _doctor_, Daddy."

He shakes his head at her. "Santana..." She's surprised that he actually looks scared.

"She was your mother and you come in here and all you care about is selling the house and earning something back from her," she chokes. "She gave up everything for you but you wouldn't even give up your pride for her." She points at her chest. "I would give up all of this..." She gestures around her. "To have another fucking minute with her. I _did_ give up everything so I could. I got on a fucking operating table and had a fucking part of me taken to try and let her live a while longer and because of you I was too late and now she's dead..."

Her father steps forward. "Cookie..."

"No," she shouts. "Don't call me that like you give a shit about me. You took my grandmother away from me when she was dying and I got four days with her," she cries. "Four days when I could have had a year, all because you couldn't get your own way."

"Santana..." her mother starts when her father just stands there. "Santana, it wasn't..."

Santana flicks her eyes to her. "You can stay quiet," she says softly. "Because I have no idea how you're involved in this but the fact that you were stupid enough to let it happen is enough for me."

"Santana, please don't talk to your mother like that," her father says curtly.

Santana laughs. "Why? It's better than you treated yours," she spits. "Enough for your own father to notice that you've got absolutely zero respect and give you nothing, just in case you fuck it up."

"She was always trying to ruin everything," her father says desperately. "You don't know what she was really like. I know how you idolize her, but she wasn't the best person in the world. She was selfish and—"

"Selfish enough to give up her happiness for you?" Santana asks calmly. "She gave up Libby so that you'd have a better life, did you know that?"

Her father pauses. Santana watches him. He shakes his head. "It's not just that..." he says. "It's... we could tell how stressed you were, okay?" he explains. "She told us at Thanksgiving and we could tell that something was making you stressed. We thought it was school and we didn't want to do anything that meant you wouldn't get into Stanford, so we kept it from you..."

Santana shakes her head and feels the tears coming on thicker and thicker, the truth bubbling further up the throat, desperate like sleep. She sobs and her father looks at her hopelessly.

"We were protecting you. We knew that if you knew the truth, then it would upset you and we didn't want you to be upset," he continues. "We didn't know how you'd react if you knew that your grandmother was a... that she was with..."

"A _woman_?" Santana finishes for him. "That she loved a woman and that woman loved her back?"

Her father laughs and he steps closer to her, reaching for her. She pulls her arm away from his grasp. "Imagine how it would look," he whispers. "Imagine how you'd feel if anyone found out about this. Imagine how embarrassed you would be, how it'd make you look. Imagine how our family would come off to people."

She feels it crumble to dust inside of her: Her last pillar, the last thing holding up what her life used to be. She feels like she knows nothing all of a sudden, like there's nothing worked out inside of her. She wishes that her grandmother were here all of a sudden. She wishes that Brittany were here too. They feel like the most important things right now and she doesn't know how she never saw that before.

She sobs fully and completely, from the depths of her soul, as her father looks at her in confusion.

"I can't..." she sobs, shaking her head. "I can't do that because I'm not. I'm not embarrassed."

Her father gives her a look. "Santana..." he says and he sounds more confused than anything. He reaches for her and she shrugs it away again.

"No," she spits. "No. I will not let you talk to me like this. I won't let you..." She trails off. "I won't let you make me feel like this. I won't let you do this to me like you did to her. I won't let _you_ make me feel like I'm nothing." She shrugs her shoulders. "I'm just like her," she shakes her head. Her father and her mother's eyes grow wide. "I'm just like her but I'm pretty sure you already knew that anyway, didn't you?" she asks with a nod. "You knew that if I found out that being gay was okay that I wouldn't end up as the person you wanted me to. I get it. You were scared. But you have no right, no right at all, doing that to me. You have no right to be ashamed of me. You have no right to be ashamed of _her_ because she was the bravest person I knew."

She presses her hand to her hip as she wipes her eyes, resigned. She shakes her head tearfully before looking at them with a nod.

"I'm proud of her," she whispers. "And I'm proud of myself. I'm proud of who I really am and if you can't be then..." she shakes her head and then points at the door. "Then leave," she whispers. "Go." Her voice grows bolder and she shrugs. "I'll be better off without you."

She doesn't look away as her parents look at her like they're seeing her properly for the first time, like their worst fears have come true in front of them, before she looks away and shakes her head in disgust. She wipes her tears with the back of her wrist and waits for whatever it is to happen. She only looks back when she sees her father slowly backing away, grabbing his jacket, her mother gripping onto his bicep in confusion.

"C'mon, Marie," he whispers, voice quietly stern. "It's time to go."

Despite herself, Santana feels her feet stumbling down the stairs after them, her mouth opening and closing as they turn away from her and step out of the door that Frank wordlessly opens for them in shock. They don't look back as they leave and, when the door clicks behind them, Santana feels her entire body beginning to buzz with shock and adrenaline. She stumbles backwards and is surprised when, as her legs buckle from beneath her, there's someone there to catch.

She turns around wildly, to where Artie's struggling to gather her into his chair. Quinn's there a second later, then Rachel, then Libby, then Frank. Their hands reach for her and she stares at them all wildly as she tries to work out what just happened.

She knows she shouldn't care but... they're her _parents_.

"I didn't think they'd actually leave," she whispers by way of explanation.

When they all look at her sadly, she thinks that maybe she didn't need to.

They didn't either.


	17. Interlude 3

**Characters: **Rachel Berry, Artie Abrams, Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez, with Quinn/Artie, Santana/Brittany, Sam/Rachel, Finn/Rachel

**Notes: **trigger warnings for virginity loss and Finn Hudson

**Length: **39k

* * *

><p><em>Rachel<em>

It's in the moments after Santana's parents leave that Rachel realizes how small her problems really are.

Her boyfriend pressuring her, her best friend refusing to give her advice, her dads' worried phone calls and what she thinks is a burgeoning crush on someone, who's already turned her down once, are really nothing when she sees Santana—and all the bravado and strength that comes with her—come crashing down to earth.

Her eyes go wide and her lips tremble with the strength of the words she doesn't have anymore. Rachel feels like she's intruding when Artie catches her falling and pulls her into his lap, only moves to hold her because it's what everyone else does. To her, it doesn't feel right holding Santana Lopez. It doesn't feel right that she should have to be one of five people that are physically having to hold Santana together. It doesn't feel like something that anyone's had to do before now.

It makes her feel sick with guilt that a mere month ago, she probably would have appreciated witnessing such a thing if only to make herself feel better. She probably would have called it karma, except, now, she's never been more sure that one person deserves something so little.

She's glad when Santana pushes through them, glad when she stumbles away from them and in the opposite direction to her parents. It feels like what should be happening: Santana refusing everyone else and doing it herself. She feels a momentary rush of relief until she hears Santana's feeble admittance that she can't breathe, that they need to get off her because the air won't get into her lungs with their arms holding her so tightly.

Rachel freezes, if only from the utter disbelief of what's happening.

She feels like she _should _be doing something but she just can't. She can't quite compute what's happening.

"Fucking... _SHIT_!" Frank shouts as Santana heads towards the yard. Artie gives him a worried look before pivoting on his wheels and following her.

Rachel stands beside Quinn and watches as Frank climbs to his feet, his fist beating into a nearby wall as he watches Santana leave. He looks torn.

"Fucking..." he mutters, shaking his head, torn, as he looks from the door to the kitchen to the front door. "..._goddamn_."

"Frank..." Quinn says timidly and Rachel looks at her, not sure why she hasn't followed Santana too. "Frank, what..."

"I don't _know, _Quinn," he says, his voice raising as he punches the wall again. He folds suddenly, hands pressed to his knees as he tries to control himself. "God dammit, Luis. God-fucking-damn, you."

It's Libby that cuts the tension. This woman who Rachel barely knows is suddenly the only thing she wants to cling to as she climbs back to her feet and shuffles until she's sat on the stairs again.

"Everything will be fine," she says. She's so calm it's like the past hour didn't just happen, that Rachel's ears aren't ringing from the harshness of unfamiliar, desperate voices. It's almost like whiplash. Rachel narrows her eyes a little, waiting for the "if" or "but" that will follow. It never does and Libby just shakes her head. "Everything will be fine," she says once more. "We'll figure something out."

Strangely, it's Quinn that speaks up. "We have to follow after them," she says softly. "We've got to stop them. They can't do this. They can't. Not to her. Not for this."

"They can."

"NO!" Quinn shouts. "No, they can't." Rachel jumps back at the sound and wonders why she's still there. Quinn breathes out and Rachel thinks that she might cry. She doesn't know what to do with it. "They're her parents," she goes on breathlessly. "I've been there, okay? We need to talk to them. We need to..."

"Quinn," Libby says and her voice is stern almost... stern but warm. The epitome of tough love, Rachel would say. "I've been there, too, okay? I've... I've been right there. There's nothing we can do."

Quinn opens her mouth to protest but it's Frank that cuts through her.

"No," he says softly. "No, she's right. We need to speak to them."

Libby laughs. "And say what?" She sounds bitter. "It's not like we weren't expecting this to happen. We've been planning for this to happen for... _God_... They've made up their closed-minds."

"No," Frank says to her. "I know that you're angry, but we..." He pauses like he's not sure what he wants to say, what he means. "I don't know, okay? But Quinn's right. They're her parents. Apart from me, they're the only blood she has left now. We've got to at least try."

It takes a few moments, where Rachel's sure she's going to burst into sobs, before she speaks.

"She has me, too," Libby says stubbornly. "She has me too, Frank."

Rachel watches as Frank strides across the room, squeezing Quinn's shoulder as he goes, before leaning down in front of Libby. Rachel tries not to listen but Frank's voice is deep and it reverberates around the entryway.

"I know," he whispers. "I know that you are more than willing to be her family. I know that that's all you've wanted since she was born but, Libby, they're her _parents_ and you know that Elena would never have wanted this. She would _never_ have wanted her to lose her parents. You _know _that."

Rachel doesn't understand what any of this means, but she can feel the weight of it in the pauses they take between their words, in the heaviness of their gazes. Libby grips at Frank's arm. A gasp leaves her as one sob escapes and, for a moment, Rachel can see the amount of grief in this woman and, even though she only met her hours ago, she can tell that it extends beyond what's happening right now.

"Okay," Libby says and Frank wipes the tear from her cheek before nodding. She mirrors him and he helps her to her feet. "Okay," she whispers. "For her."

Frank grips her hand. "For both of them," he says shakily.

/

Quinn argues with Frank that she needs to go to with them, following behind him to his car and climbing in the back before he can stop her. Libby chuckles a little before turning to Rachel as she goes to close the door behind her.

Rachel looks at her desperately, suddenly not sure what she's meant to do.

Libby strides back across the room and envelopes her in a hug so quick Rachel barely feels it.

"Look after her for us," she whispers and then she's gone, leaving Rachel unmoved until the door slams and something snaps inside of her, her body jumping back into action.

She's through the kitchen and out in the yard before she knows it. Her stomach dropping at little as she sees Santana stood there, frozen and unsure what to do.

"Artie..." Rachel hisses softly. He looks at her and shakes his head, holding out his arm to stop her from coming forward.

"I already tried that," he says. "She wouldn't let me get anywhere near her. I don't know what's wrong..." he trails off and gives her a sheepish look. "I mean... other than..."

Rachel silences him with a hand on his shoulder. "I know," she says but then she looks at Santana. "We can't just..."

"I know..." he says hurriedly. Something catches his eye and she turns in the same direction as him to see the others all looking out of the window of the pool house with confused curiosity. "Where's Quinn?"

She snaps her eyes back to him. He looks worried so she squeezes his shoulder, hoping to comfort him.

"She's gone with Frank and Libby," she explains quietly, not wanting Santana to hear. "They've gone to find Santana's parents."

"Shit," Artie says around a breath, like his last hope is gone. "What are we going to do?"

Rachel shakes her head. She's clueless. She doesn't argue when Artie slowly removes her hand from his shoulder and wheels himself forward. He leaves himself a safe distance and Rachel watches as Santana immediately flinches, her eyes darting everywhere at once.

"I can't..." she whispers breathlessly. "My hands they won't stop..." She raises her hands up to look at them and Rachel can see them shaking from here, quivering with their uselessness. "They won't stop shaking..." she flicks her wrists like she's trying to flick away the affliction. "I can't... they won't stop... _fuck_..."

Rachel watches for a second as Artie tries to grab for her hands, catching how she lets him take them for a second before snatching them back when they won't stop shaking. It makes instinct click inside of her and she jumps at her own stupidity before retreating back into the house. How could she not even think to do that? It should have been the first thing she did before hugging Santana and then standing there like a statue.

She doesn't care that she's messing up all her hard work tidying the house as her hands rummage through cupboard after cupboard looking for what she knows should be here somewhere. She's seen Santana try and sneak one from every morning since they've been here.

She almost cries with relief when her fingers hit the packet. Her eyes actually water with tears when the matches are where they should be. She carries them, and the carton, straight back out to Santana.

"Rachel—" Artie starts when he sees her, his panic beginning to grow with Santana's. Rachel ignores him, forcing her own hands to stop shaking as she pulls over a chair with her free hand and drags it along with her.

She forces Santana down into it when it's close enough and kneels down in front of her. Santana struggles, trapped, until Rachel holds up the cigarette packet, then she struggles more, grabbing at Rachel's shirt as Rachel tries to retrieve one for her, fumbling and unfamiliar with the protocol of it.

"Here, here..." she coos, ripping a little roughly at the cellophane in panic and damaging the cardboard. She lets the packet fall to floor, grabbing for the matches as she gently slips the stick between Santana's lips. "It's okay..." she mumbles, striking up a match on her first try. She hovers it at the end of the cigarette and doesn't even flinch when a cloud of smoke hits her eyes. If anything, it gives her more relief. "It's okay..." She rubs her hands down Santana's arms before one moves to rest at the base of her neck, tucked under her ear to make sure she stays looking at her. "You're safe," she reassures her. "You're safe."

/

She's not sure how long she's been sat there. She doesn't really care, not even that her knees are hurting from the floor or that Santana's hands are gripping so tight to the front of her favorite dress it might stretch. All she cares about is the fact that, the longer they sit there, the calmer Santana gets, the softer her breathing grows and the less _scared _she looks.

"You're okay," Rachel whispers softly. Santana looks at her with those same wide, terrified eyes she's had since they left. Rachel feels something hurt inside of her knowing that it'll probably be a while before they go away. Still, she strokes the back of her knuckles over the stray tear that rolls down Santana's cheek and wipes it away, nodding. "You're okay. You're—"

"Rachel?"

She flinches at the voice and feels irrational anger grow inside her... except, it doesn't really feel all that irrational right now. It feels perfectly warranted.

"Rachel?" Finn asks again and she smiles at Santana before turning to look at him sternly.

"Go back in the pool house, Finn," she says warningly. Her voice is not as quiet as she wants it to be.

Finn scoffs indignantly. The sound of it is slowly starting to irritate Rachel and make her want to scream in frustration the more she hears it.

"We just wanna know what's going on," Finn whines. "We've been in here for hours and no one will tell us why. Come on, Rach. We're hungry."

"Just _stay _in there, Finn," she hisses, not wanting to alarm Santana. "There are more important things going on right now than your stomach being empty."

That doesn't help. It makes it worse. Tina, and then Mercedes, poke their heads around him to look in their direction. Sam sits in the window and pushes Mike and Puck away when they try to look out at them too. It makes Rachel get that familiar tingling feeling in her stomach that she doesn't want to call butterflies.

"What kinds of things?" Mercedes asks softly—_nosily_—looking around at them with curiosity as she takes in the sight of Santana sat on the chair and Rachel knelt at her feet with Artie behind her.

The unfamiliar scenario makes her move closer, her mouth opening to ask questions and Rachel purses her lips to stop herself. She bubbles with anger because she's _not _going to sit them all down and have this conversation again. She's not going to force them to care about each other because she's already tried more times than she should have to. Their pointless arguments and petty games have already been too much this week and she's not prepared to be the only one who feels guilty _all the time. _Not when she isn't the only person who genuinely should be.

Being a team means that they should have to look out for each other. Being their leader shouldn't mean that she's the only one who has to care about the consequences of the things they've all done.

She turns to them, mouth opening to quickly tell them to go away, to leave Santana alone and mind their own business. If they don't want everyone else knowing _their _business so much, why should Santana have to share hers? It's not fair.

"It's—"

"I'm gay..." Santana mumbles before she can finish.

Rachel's eyes widen but Santana isn't even looking at her anymore. She's not looking at Artie or anyone. She's just staring ahead of herself and Rachel's never seen another person look so utterly disappointed. She darts her eyes quickly to the others to see if they heard and instantly looks back to Santana when she sees their faces. Her hand tightens at Santana's neck to stop her from being able to turn and look too. She doesn't need to see that right now, not that it matters anymore.

"I'm gay," Santana says again and then, not a moment later, she's crumbling in bitter relief, lapsing into sobs and Rachel's lost again, not sure what she's supposed to do.

Instead, she does the only thing she can do, and holds her.

/

They take her upstairs, away from the prying eyes, when the other don't go back into the pool house and just stand there staring at her. Rachel just nods and silently agrees, her hands never letting go of Santana as she guides her back up to her room.

Santana shrugs her off the minute that she's in the room, her hands clutching at the dresser as she leans her entire body weight against it. Her knuckles go white with the struggle and Rachel gulps as she can't stop herself wondering how heavy the weight on her shoulder must be now compared to mere minutes ago.

She wants to say something consoling, comforting, but she can't understand it. How quickly things change has and never will make any sense to her.

She's glad when Artie rolls up behind her. He breathes out in relief at the sight of Santana and Rachel darts her eyes to him before looking back at Santana as she struggles.

Someone needs to be watching to catch her if she falls.

"I—I need a shower or—um..." Santana looks around the room before her hands slowly pull at the dresser to wordlessly open the drawer. Rachel can't do anything but watch her as she presses her palms to clothes. She pulls her hand away, and instead presses her hand to the hard top of the dresser, fingers grazing idly over the tiny trinkets and bottles before clutching her fingers around something small and plastic.

Rachel steps closer at the sight of it, mouth opening to work around words she can't find as Santana pops open the plastic in her hands and then moves her fingers to her face. She goes to speak but then Artie presses a hand to her thigh and stops her, urging her to pause and watch as Santana slowly removes two small, clear lenses from her eyes. She drops them into the case and Rachel holds her breath as she waits for what happens next.

She didn't even know that Santana needed them.

It feels like something big when Santana slowly reaches across the dresser and takes a pair of dark-framed glasses from where they're hidden behind an old picture frame and slowly slips them onto her face. It feels like Santana's introducing herself for the first time. Rachel looks at Artie and he looks just as confused as she does as Santana nudges the glasses back up her nose when they slip down.

"I..." he whispers but Rachel shakes her head at him. This isn't something that matters right now. His mouth twitches with a smile that's almost appreciative.

"I should..." Santana starts again and Rachel's eyes snap back to her with the reminder that she's still there, that she's the only thing that matters right now. Not her glasses. Her glasses don't mean anything when her eyes are still so wide and terrified, when her skin is so pale and she's still shaking. They're just another sign that she's cracking, breaking and falling apart with no one to hold her together.

"I should shower..." she shakes out unevenly. "I should shower and—and sleep and..."

Rachel steps forward then, her smile forced as she tries not to cry herself. "You don't have to, Santana," she whispers through her own hoarse voice. She swallows and tries again, her smile wider and her voice clearer. At least, she hopes. "You don't have to do anything that you don't want to. You can do whatever you need to do to be... to be comfortable."

It makes her flinch when Santana quickly reaches out to grip at the dresser, knuckles and fingertips white from the tightness of her grip. Her legs buckle a little but she refuses it, pushing herself up and fighting against everything inside of herself that's shouting at her to give up. She does it again and again until Rachel realizes how exhausted she is and steps forward to wrap her arms around her, not much stronger herself.

"What do you need?" she asks softly. "You just tell me what you need and I'll handle it. I'll handle it, okay?"

Santana's knees buckle again and Rachel can feel Artie hovering near them, hands outstretched as Rachel struggles to hold up Santana and the weight she carries with her. Her own legs buckle and Artie grabs for them as they both tumble, more gracefully than they should, to the floor.

"But I don't know..." Santana breathes softly. "I don't know..."

Rachel nods and swallows to stop herself crying. She's not sure how one is meant to hold Santana Lopez. She doesn't know how anyone comforts her, how they make her feel warm and safe and secure. She doesn't know how to be the person who does that because she wasn't sure that person existed before now.

"We'll still handle it," she nods as she cradles her awkwardly in her arms. "No need to worry."

/

"Where the hell are they?" Artie says softly as they stand outside the bedroom door and wait for Santana to change. Rachel's hand is still on the handle, holding it steady where it's cracked just enough for Rachel to peer in every so often and make sure she's okay. "Shouldn't they be back by now?"

Rachel glances back from checking on her to reach over and squeeze his shoulder. "They were looking for her parents," she says softly, quietly, so Santana can't overhear. "Maybe they haven't found them. Maybe they've got a lot to talk about. Either way, we can't assume there's a determined or normal length of time that they should be returning." She shakes her head woefully. "None of this is normal. None of this should be happening."

Artie nods and then he looks at her, curious and quiet. She bows her head at it.

"Rachel," he says tentatively. "Your dads..." he starts and she looks up at him with instantly narrowed eyes. "Would they know what to do? I mean, they're..."

"No," Rachel shakes her head softly. "No, they wouldn't know what to do. They were... they were lucky that nothing like this ever happened to them. They were older when they got together. My Bubbe... she—she's from New York and well..." She trails off. "No... not really."

Artie swallows, his hands worrying in his lap as he peeks around the door to catch a glimpse of Santana too. It's okay. She still hasn't got further than taking her jacket off yet.

"Then what do we do?"

Rachel looks at her too and she can't imagine it. She can't imagine what she would want if something like this happened to her, if her fathers disowned and left her like that, refusing to support her and her choices. It's not something a parent should do. Not for something like this. Not for something that should be as celebrated as who she loves. It shouldn't even matter.

"I don't think there's anything we can do," she says softly, glancing at him. "I don't think there's anything we can do but sit with her and make sure she's not alone and comfortable. Maybe... maybe talk to her? I don't know. Maybe take her mind off of it." It frustrates her that she's so clueless. "I don't know, Artie. I just don't know."

Artie nods and then he looks up at her. "Do—Do you think we should help her?" he says softly. "She... she looks like she's struggling."

Rachel looks back to where Santana still sits stock still on the bed, her jacket in her hands from where she just took it off and her eyes staring wide in front of her, before deciding what to do. It's probably not the best idea to just leave her. They could be stuck here all night waiting if they didn't. Santana's going to be shocked and useless for a few days; that's obvious. It's within her rights to be after what she's been through, if only to give her brain a chance to process everything completely.

As her friends, it's their job to do all the things she can't and, if that means doing them without her consent or with argument, then so be it. It's what they _have _to do.

She nods and pushes the door open, letting Artie wheel himself in before following in after him.

"Santana?" he says softly, reaching to touch her knee.

Santana jolts at the touch and Rachel's heart drops at the shock that coats her face. Artie smiles kindly and wheels closer, hoisting himself onto the bed once he's close enough before reaching for Santana's hand. He locks their fingers together tightly and Rachel watches as Santana squeezes his hand, watching him like he might leave too. Artie just covers her hand with his other.

"Do you wanna watch some TV with me?" he asks softly. Santana's lips part to speak but instead she chooses to nod gently. Artie smiles and Rachel steps closer to move his chair to the foot of the bed as he pulls himself back to lean against the pillows. Santana glances back at him and his face falls a little before he sheepishly pulls her back with him, guiding her head to rest on the pillow he pulls into his lap.

Santana pulls herself into a ball and Rachel doesn't have to think twice before she's stepping over to pick up and hand the remotes to Artie. He smiles gratefully before switching on the TV until some old nineties sitcom bursts into life on the screen. Artie rests his hand atop Santana's head and the only sign that he's doing something right is when Santana's eyes flutter closed.

Rachel almost wants to cry with relief.

Instead, she looks up at the soft cough Artie gives her before gesturing at the blankets at the foot of the bed. Rachel nods and leans forward, brushing the hair from Santana's face softly before smiling at her softly.

"Where do you keep your pajamas?" she asks softly. Santana breathes in at the feel of Rachel's hand on her face and sighs. She blinks, trying to conjure the answer but eventually Rachel just shushes her and smiles. "Don't worry," she whispers. "I'll find em."

/

She leaves Artie watching over Santana knowing that she's minutes away from sleep.

It's late and she needs to call Quinn to see what's happening, if there's anything she should do. It just feels like there's something else that she could do if someone would tell her what it is.

"Everything okay?"

She jumps when she hears the voice and turns around nervously to smile at Sam as he hovers in the doorway outside. He smiles back, wide and welcoming, and she hates herself for the way her stomach flips over at the sight of it so she quickly looks away.

Sam laughs at her a little. "So, is it?"

She stares at him for a moment, confused and watches how his brow raises with amusement. She realizes what he means a second later and wants to curl up and die with how warm she suddenly feels.

She looks down for a moment, willing the blush away before returning her eyes to him. She knows she's not doing a good job of hiding her embarrassment when his eyes flick over her face curiously.

"No," she whispers honestly. "No, I don't think it is."

Sam's face falls at that. His brow furrows in a way that makes her tummy tingle again and she wants to kick herself because she's so messed up. So completely messed up that she hates herself a little bit.

"Santana?" he asks softly and she nods softly because she doesn't know whether she should explain or if she even could. It's not her business. She thinks of Santana as a friend and friends don't do that to each other.

His shoulders drop and his eyes dart to the stairs behind her. She leans her hip into the counter and taps her fingers in a pattern over the granite.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks quietly and she's been watching him the past week, just like she's been watching Artie too.

She knows the pair of them have bonded and blamed themselves for a lot of what happened the weekend before. She knows that the reason they've been helping out anyone who will let them is because they feel like they have something to make up for, like they need to fix something to make the guilt go away.

Rachel shakes her head at him, just like she's been shaking her head at both of them when they come in and ask her if they can help her make breakfast or do laundry when she's already almost done. His gaze lowers and she almost reaches out to lift his chin back up before she remembers that she's got a boyfriend in the pool house and a relationship that's still too delicate from the last time it was messed up.

Instead, she presses her hand to his forearm and smiles. "It's not you," she says softly. "I just don't think there's anything that anyone can do right now."

"Why? What's going on?"

Rachel jumps at the new voice and curses the universe because obviously it's Finn who would walk through the door at that moment.

Rachel looks at him, flustered and shakes her head. "Nothing," she says quickly. "Nothing. I was just... Sam was asking if there was anything he could do for Santana."

Finn perks up at that. "Why? Did you find out what her problem is yet?"

_Her problem_, Rachel's head repeats to her but she ignores it as her fingers tingle with the warmth of Sam's skin still. Luckily, Sam speaks first.

"Dude, her grandmother just died," he says with a narrowed look. "What is _your _problem?"

Finn glares at him and shakes his head like he can't believe Sam just said that. Rachel stays quiet even though she knows she should be sticking up for Finn. Instead she continues drumming her fingers against the counter, glancing up at the clock instead of at Finn.

"I'm just sayin' that, just because her grandmother died, doesn't mean she had to be a bitch to me like she was the other day," he says, his voice raising. "Obviously she's got a problem and she should talk to me about it instead of being rude."

Sam laughs. "I'm pretty sure any problem she does have has got less to do with you than it does anyone else, so, no... I don't think she should."

"What's going on?" Kurt says as he and Blaine peer in around Finn. "We were gonna head up. It's almost midnight. What's happening with Santana?"

Finn scoffs. "That's what I'm trying to find out but apparently it's none of my business."

Kurt gives him a look. "It is none of your business," he mutters before turning his attention back to Rachel. "How's she doing? Is she okay?"

"Artie's with her," Rachel tells him softly.

Kurt nods and Blaine slowly slips an arm around his waist. Rachel tries not to notice how both of them stiffen at the gesture a little.

"How did this all come about anyway?" Blaine says, quickly moving the subject on. "She was fine earlier when Libby was here. Did something happen? Who were those people that came by?"

"Her parents," Sam answers. Rachel looks at him with a frown. "I met em once when we were dating, I think."

"Are they still here?" Puck says, suddenly appearing. "Papa Lopez hates my ass. Don't even get me started on Mama Lopez."

Rachel shakes her head. "No, no... they..." she breathes out. "They had an argument with Santana and they left."

"About her being gay?" Mercedes says and Rachel's forced to step back to allow everyone else to step in. Sam catches her as she almost slips, steadying her before moving to close the door so that they're not overheard.

Rachel shakes her head at all of them. "Among other things."

"Did you hear it?" Tina asks, appearing too. Rachel breathes out. Mike scoffs, shoving past her as he steps in too. "What?" she spits at him as he moves to stand by Puck. "Problem?"

"With you?" he asks. "Not anymore."

"Cut it out, you guys," Mercedes breathes, fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose. "I can't handle another one of your petty arguments. Tell us about Santana, Rachel."

Rachel looks at them, their eyes staring at her expectantly. She steps back automatically, determined not to give in. Their gazes narrow and, instead of intimidating her, it just makes her feel angry.

"It's none of my business to say," she says softly. "If Santana wants to tell you, she will when she's better."

"No, come on," Finn says, reaching out to press a hand to her shoulder. "Tell us. We need to know."

Rachel laughs at that and shakes her head. She shrugs off Finn's hand and closes her eyes to fight away the anger that fills her seeing all of them looking back at her, all except Sam who leans against the door to the pantry with his eyes to the ground.

"No," Rachel says softly. "It's _none_ of our business. I just so happened to be there and overheard and it's none of my business as much as it is none of all yours. It's _Santana's_ business and it's private and personal and we have no right to it whatsoever."

"But..."

"No," Kurt says all of a sudden. "No, she's right. If I'm reading this right, I feel like Santana's probably already been judged and violated enough without us knowing her business. Come on, Blaine," he says, urging Blaine forward towards the door that Sam pulls open for them. "Night, everyone."

They leave, taking Mike and Mercedes with them. Tina sticks around for a few moments longer, waiting to see what happens before quietly leaving too.

"You're sure her parents are gone?" Puck asks before Rachel looks at him and nods quickly, leaning back against the counter as he moves past her to go back to the pool house.

Finn looks at her like he's waiting for her to reveal all now that everyone else has gone. Sam stays in the same spot by the pantry and refuses to move.

"I thought we were supposed to tell each other everything," Finn says softly as he looks at her disdainfully. Rachel's surprised how little and much she feels at the same time and doesn't say anything. Finn shrugs his shoulders. "I guess not," he says and then leaves, slamming the back door behind him.

The room is tense before Sam laughs a little.

"He's kind of an ass sometimes," he says softly.

Instead of responding, Rachel tries not to smile.

That's probably response enough.

"Come on," Sam says, nudging her shoulder. "Someone once told me I was awesome at making grilled cheese."

For a moment, Rachel decides to let herself be guiltless and forgets everything, if only to let Sam Evans make her vegan grilled cheese.

For a moment, she feels at ease.

* * *

><p><em>Quinn<em>

Frank pulls up at the foot of the driveway and puts the car in park. She sighs, running her hands over her eyes as she leans forward in her seat.

She's tired.

"They've got to be somewhere," she says softly. None of them have spoken since they checked the last hotel in town. "I mean... maybe they're further up in, like, Marathon or Key Largo or something."

"Or Lima," Frank says softly, turning to look at her. Quinn falls back in her chair and breathes out irritatedly. Frank clicks his tongue. "Quinn, come on..." he says. "I'll try again tomorrow but you need to rest."

"I can't," Quinn says. "Not when..." she trails off. "It's not fair."

"Nothing is, honey," Libby says from the passenger seat. "The best thing you can do is be there for Santana and make sure she's okay. We can handle her parents."

Quinn feels stupid but she's felt stupid all night for how thickly the tears have been building behind her eyes, her protectiveness creeping up on her fiercer than she thought it could.

"Promise?" she says softly.

Frank smiles at her. "I'll deal with this if you look after Santana," he says softly. "Deal?"

Quinn just nods.

/

"Quinn!" Rachel gasps as she steps into the kitchen. Quinn shrugs out of her jacket and throws it over the back of a chair as she sits down in an empty seat. Rachel stares at her like she's a bomb about to go off. "What happened? Did you find them?"

Quinn shakes her head, leaning forward to take a cup from the stand sat in the middle of the table. She wordlessly pours herself a cup of coffee, from what looks like a fresh pot, and takes a long gulp from the dark, unsweetened liquid before she speaks.

"No," she shakes her head, running her tongue over her teeth

Rachel looks at her. "N-No?" she repeats and Quinn shakes her head. "Then where did they go?"

She shrugs and tries to contain her annoyance, the deep and ugly sensation that comes with needing to just blow up and scream, even when it's not the right time.

"I don't know," she says with a shrug. She settles her cup back down on the table and taps at the side of it aimlessly. "We checked the airport for an hour, the bus station, every single hotel in town. Couldn't find them or they wouldn't tell us anything. It was okay with the hotel managers because Frank knows a lot of people from the bar and they pretty much insinuated that they weren't there, even when they couldn't say. The car rental place pretty much flat out refused to give any information... so they could have got a car if they wanted but we won't know about it."

Rachel drops back into the chair. "What are you going to do?"

Quinn shrugs. "Frank says he's gonna go looking again tomorrow, but... I don't know. Maybe. I asked Frank if what Santana said about the house was true and he said that it was, so... at least she's got somewhere to stay while everything gets figured out."

"School starts in two and a half weeks, Quinn," Rachel says softly. "What if everything's not figured out by then?"

Quinn sits in the quiet and tries to breathe away all the things that are getting on top of her. That's what the shrink said, to breathe through the bad times and concentrate on things that you _can_ control instead of the things that you can't. Quinn thinks it's all bullshit but he's got to be paid a ridiculous amount of money for something.

"I don't know," she mutters softly. "I don't know."

They lapse into silence. Rachel sits, straight-backed leaning towards her and it's not until Quinn leans back that she actually realizes that Sam's sitting there with them. She narrows her eyes at him before looking at Rachel and then back again. Something doesn't quite fit right.

Rachel notices her looking quickly and pushes her chair back with a screech.

"I should go to bed," she says with a decisive nod. "I have to get up early to make breakfast."

Quinn gives her a look that only grows with disgust when Sam smiles at her. He stands up too.

"Me too, probably," he says softly. "If you need a hand... with breakfast..." he starts. Rachel's eyes dart to Quinn who folds her arms and looks at them, glad for a sudden reprieve she didn't expect. "Well, you can wake me up," he trails off.

Rachel nods. "Sure," she says.

Sam nods. "Night, Quinn," he says softly, squeezing her shoulder and stepping around her. Quinn watches him as he moves around to give Rachel a one-armed hug. "Night, Rachel. Sweet dreams."

He leaves Rachel a panicked mess in his wake. Quinn looks at her with her brow raised, a smirk starting at the corners of her mouth.

"What was that?" she asks softly.

Rachel looks at her and shakes her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says softly, stumbling back. "I should get to bed."

Quinn grins. She's annoying but when she's like this it's kind of really funny in an endearing sort of way. "Oh, really?" she teases. "You sure?"

"Mhm," Rachel says with a forced grin. "Santana's upstairs in her room with Artie," she says and then she's gone, leaving Quinn chuckling behind her.

/

She's quiet as she approaches Santana's room, unprepared for what she'll find, and smiles at what she does.

"Hey," Artie whispers softly, his eyes tired behind his glasses as he clutches Santana's in his hand. "You're back."

She nods silently as she takes in how Santana's chest rises and falls steadily, her hand clutched into the blanket draped over her and her head buried in the pillow on Artie's lap.

"She doing okay?" she asks softly.

He nods and runs his knuckles up and down Santana's back over her t-shirt. "I think so," he says. "At least, she's doing better than she could be, I think. When did you get back?"

She kicks off her shoes before wandering over to sit in the space behind Santana. "I got back a while ago. I had coffee with Sam and Rachel before I came up."

Artie chuckles. "Did they notice you past their sudden huge mutual crushes on each other?" he asks as quietly as he can.

Quinn grins at the words. "I know, right? The elephant in the room is, like, neon."

Artie smiles and he moves his hand to let Quinn stroke up and down Santana's back slowly. She scratches gently at the top of her spine before holding her hand out to take the glasses from his hand. He hands them over without argument and she sees him narrow his eyes as she puts them behind her on the nightstand at the same time she lifts up Santana's shirt.

"Did Rachel check her bandages?" she asks softly. He shakes his head, peering curiously down to where Quinn's hands reverently run over Santana's back. She can already see through the thin white adhesive dressings that they probably haven't been changed today.

"Just getting her to change her clothes was hard enough," he mutters softly as he takes Santana's shirt from Quinn's hands when it keeps slipping over where she's trying to look. "Is it bad?" he asks curiously. "What did they even do?"

Quinn looks up at him as she jumps up from the bed and quickly grabs new dressings from the plastic bag full the hospital gave them on the dresser.

"They put a gigantic needle into her back and sucked out her bone marrow," she says when she's settled back on the bed. Artie grimaces. "It's not that bad," she says softly. "They look like... puncture marks, I guess. We just have to keep them clean until they're healed, but she keeps moving around instead of resting and agitating them."

His nose turns up as Quinn peels the old dressings away.

"She's like... purple," he comments. Quinn rolls her eyes.

"So she's been told," she says as she gently wipes Santana's back with an antiseptic wipe before replacing the dressings. "That'll have to do for now," she says with a sigh before sitting back on the bed.

She's not prepared for the way that Artie's staring at her.

"What about you?" he says without pause. "How are you?" His hands reach out and she gasps quietly when his fingers brush over her bandages. "Who's changing your bandages?"

She swallows, suddenly overcome with a rush of something she hasn't felt in what feels like forever. It burns, but in a good way, rushing up her arm and into her shoulder until it blossoms in her chest. She breathes out unevenly and her fingers twitch when his brush back down and tickle over her own until he pulls away.

"Libby," she says, answering the question, even though she's sure that's not entirely what he meant. "And Santana, I guess... before all this stuff happened. And Frank."

"But you're okay?" he asks, almost frantically. "I mean... you're... you know?"

She nods at the question, her lips pursed together as their fingers almost touch over Santana's back. Quinn strokes her hands over Santana's back, pulling her shirt down, if only to stop the tingling in her fingers that makes her feel like she's losing control. It doesn't fit with the sudden panic that swirls in her head. She can't take all these competing feelings at once.

"I'm..." she trails off and plasters on the best smile she can. "I'm good," she nods.

He nods and then he clears his throat. She looks up at him nervously as his cheeks flush adorably pink, his hands toying with a loose thread on the blanket covering Santana.

"Can I say that I'm sorry?" Artie says all of a sudden. Quinn looks up at him, their eyes catching in the lamp light. She frowns her confusion. "About... how things were before you left? About my obsessive need to find out what was wrong with you and embarrass you in front of everyone and everything?"

A laugh leaves her awkwardly. She nods. "Sure," she says. "You don't have to, but... whatever."

Artie smiles. "Cool," he says. "Because I am. Really sorry, that is. I was just... I was just worried about you, ya know?"

Quinn nods. "I know."

Suddenly, things feel weird and awkward. "I should go to my room," she says softly.

"No! No..." She looks at him as he grabs for her hand as she pulls away. "No," he repeats again. "You should be here with her and, I would move if I could, but..." He shakes his head softly. "I don't mind if you don't. We can watch some more TV."

She looks at him for a second before nodding. She'd be lying if she said that, all those nights she'd been lying beside Santana, she hadn't been wishing she was lying beside him instead or as well, feeling the regret of the last words they'd said to each other. If she was honest, after the embarrassment of breaking down like she had done, the only reason she'd refused to speak to him was because of how much she wanted to. She felt pathetic, feeling so suddenly attached to someone who had barely expressed his feelings for her, whom she'd treated so badly. She knew it was unhealthy and she's determined to get better. If anything, she's determined to get better and she wants that to be for no one but herself.

"Here," Artie says softly and she watches as he holds Santana's head so that he can shift down more comfortably on the bed. She wordlessly helps him arrange his legs when he can't reach and waits for instruction. He takes away the pillow and urges Santana to rest on his stomach. It's kinda cute, how she snuggles into his tummy, her hand moving to fist in his shirt. Quinn strokes her hair back from her face and pulls the blanket over the three of them.

"Here," Artie says softly, tapping his chest. "That way everyone who needs to be cuddled does."

He blushes at his own words, and laughs awkwardly, but Quinn's heart flutters in her chest in a way it's never really done before. She smiles at him, her mouth contorting strangely as she stares at him. He smiles and she sees something falter a little at how long she's taking. Her own smile widens before she leans over to get the lamp and then listens as he gasps when she rests her head on his chest, right over his heart.

They lay in silence, faces lit by the colors of the television, but never really watch it. Quinn wraps one arm around herself while the other rests comfortably on Santana's elbow. Her eyes flicker closed at how warm and safe she feels, the covers pulled up around her and Artie's hand pressed to her own shoulder.

"Quinn," he whispers after she doesn't know how long. She turns her head to him, eyes slow and heavy as they blink, hypnotized into exhaustion by the comfort. He reaches for her wrist and gently plays with the bones of it through her bandage. "Can I hold your hand?" he asks quietly, voice breaking.

Her breath hitches. She doesn't even think.

"Yeah," she says softly. "Please."

She lifts her hand and watches as his palm presses to the back of hers before he locks their fingers together. She captures his thumb in her palm with her own and looks in disbelief at it, filled with something bigger than she understands or knows, her mind muddied with thick sleep.

"Goodnight, Quinn," she hears him whisper a little while later and then, before she finally drifts off to sleep, feels a kiss pressed to the soft spot of her skull.

She breathes easily. It's suddenly the only way.

/

She wakes up for no reason whatsoever and that's what scares her: the fact that nothing's woken her up except for her own body telling her she needs no more sleep.

It's strange and welcome in a way that she doesn't understand until it's not when she realizes that Santana's not laying with them anymore.

And that's when it's welcome again: when she realizes that her cheek's pressed into Artie's shirt, her hand curled around the bottom of his ribcage, and that her body is rising and falling with the steady movement of his. His fingers linger in her hair and she can feel his spare hand pressed against her back, tucking her closer to him as he sleeps.

She pulls away as careful as she can, if only to catch a glimpse of his face, and smiles when she finds that he's still wearing his glasses. It pulls a giggle from her as she reaches up to stroke a thumb over his cheekbone.

"Artie?" she whispers softly. "Artie?"

He takes a deep breath in and his head rolls as he blinks himself awake to look at her. She smiles before pushing his glasses to the end of his nose so he can see her properly.

He grins.

"What time is it?"

She reaches up over him for Santana's cell on the nightstand and clicks the button at the top to light up the screen.

"Almost ten," she says around a laugh. "Shit, did we really sleep that long?"

She looks at him and suddenly realizes how close they are together, how her neck hovers near his mouth and his eyes stare at her lips. He looks torn, confused and she tries to avoid his eyes as he takes her in, his hands braced on either side of her waist to support her. The touch burns inside of her and she leans in without thinking, only stopping when Artie takes in a deep breath and turns away from her.

"Where's Santana?" he asks suddenly and she drowns in her embarrassment, cheeks burning with rejection. She swallows and forces a smile, rolling onto her back.

"I don't know," she says softly, pushing away the blankets. "I'll go find her."

As she leaves, she thinks she hears him call her name but doesn't stop, too aware of how ridiculous she is for thinking things would be that easy, or even that he'd want that at all.

/

She jumps when she finds her, laid across the couch in the first floor TV room with her head in Libby's lap.

Libby holds a finger up to her lip when she sees her before instantly returning it to stroke over Santana's forehead.

"She just fell back to sleep," she explains softly, voice gruff with her own lack of sleep. "I think she had a rough night."

"Oh?"

Libby nods and Quinn watches as her fingers stroke over Santana's forehead, so gentle and tentative that it almost hurts to watch. For a moment, it nags at Quinn that she's still not entirely sure what Libby's story is, what this pain is all for. She's not sure she'd understand if she did.

"I decided to go for a walk after Frank came to take over watching Elena," she whispers, mapping out Santana's face with her fingertips. "I just walked around... trying to understand this place, trying to decide what I'm going to say to people at the funeral, how I'll explain myself... and she was pacing a hole into the porch when I walked past, sucking away on a damn cigarette." She breathes out uneasily. "She must have had a bad dream—she wouldn't say when I asked—because she looked terrified."

Quinn nods, face flickering with discomfort for some reason she doesn't understand.

"I can understand that," Libby goes on. "I can remember... when my parents told me to leave, I was petrified. When I had to leave Elena—I couldn't..." She laughs tearfully. "I couldn't understand any of it and I was just..." Her head shakes adamantly and she furiously wipes away a tear. "But I get it now. It was worth it. It was worth it," she repeats like a chant, still attempting to convince herself. "I just... She'd know what to do. She'd know what to do and I don't know because all I have is stories. All I have is stories."

Quinn looks at her softly, sympathetically.

"So tell them," Quinn shrugs. Libby looks up at her softly, with a frown. Quinn shrugs. "Sometimes the stories make more sense than we give them credit for."

/

"Did you take your pills?"

She takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes at him, refusing to answer.

"That's not an answer," he comments, piling food onto his fork from the plate in front of him. Rachel watches them curiously. "What will I tell your mother when I give her daily call later?"

"I have to eat with them, Frank," she says softly. "Otherwise I get woozy."

Frank drops his fork and pulls out a chair at the same time his hand reaches out to grab her. "Miss Rachel," he says jovially. "Could you perhaps fix Miss Quinn here something to eat so she can take her pills?"

Rachel smiles at her confused and Quinn hates it. "Sure," she nods, slipping the just-cleaned skillet back on the stove. "What would you like?"

Quinn shrugs. "Anything."

Rachel busies herself making breakfast, mixing pancake batter and frying off a ton of things. Frank watches her from across the table and pours her a cup of coffee and a cup of juice, just for good measure.

"Have you been out looking this morning?" she asks. He sips at his own coffee before shaking his head. "Are you going to?"

"Maybe later," he says. "Dena's sitting with Elena but I told her I'd be back soon. I might go this evening and make some calls to some people to see if they know anything." Quinn nods, not so sure if that's good enough. Frank leans forward and covers her hand. "It'll be fine," he says. "We'll figure it out."

Still, she's not so sure.

"So, what are you doing here?" she asks after a while.

"Santana got condolence cards," Rachel whispers before he can speak. She puts the food in front of Quinn before sitting down. "I called Frank because I didn't know what to do."

Quinn's mouth opens to speak but Frank cuts through her.

"More than she would be able to handle," he says softly, accepting the refill Rachel gives him on his coffee. "Dozens. News travels fast around here. I would expect no less than for all the people from the church to come pay their respects in person. I just wanted to come explain to Rachel that she should probably try to send them to me. None of you should be forced to explain this shit to strangers."

Quinn nods. "Yeah."

"All you need to do," he says softly. "is look after Cookie."

"Of course."

He stands up and, as he leaves, presses a hand to the top of her head. "And take your medicine."

She rolls her eyes but, inwardly, the rattle of her pill pot sounds more like a pair of shackles.

She's scared and she doesn't see how they're going to make her better.

She takes them, but only because people are watching.

* * *

><p><em>Artie<em>

"Rachel's making lunch."

He doesn't take his eyes off the TV, the controller in his hand feeling the full brunt of his frustration and anger as he presses the buttons harder, determined to cause more destruction on screen. Sam just stands in the doorway watching him, saying nothing as Artie ignores him and concentrates on the noises of the game that echo around the room.

"Are you listening?"

Artie lets his head get swept up in the game as Sam steps closer. He feels his knuckles go white around the controller in panic, the rush of adrenaline that courses through his system burning in a way that takes his mind off things. He feels it all rushing closer until Sam steps in front of the TV and pulls him from the game, the sounds of him dying on screen loud and echoing around the room.

"Did you hear me?" Sam says with a smile that Artie's wanted to punch off his face for days. He drops the controller in his lap to stop himself from throwing it. "Rachel's making lunch."

"When isn't she..." he breathes as he reaches to take off the break on his chair.

Sam smiles and it's frustrating. "What's your problem?"

He glances at him as he wheels over to the coffee table to retrieve his book before putting it in his lap. "Nothing."

"Bullshit."

Artie looks at him incredulously. "Nothing," he repeats. "I swear."

"No, seriously," Sam says. "What's your problem, bro? You've been in here for hours playing COD... and... badly, by the looks of it. What's got your goat today?"

Artie tilts his head back to look at Sam fully. Sam laughs.

"I'm just saying, dude... whatever it is, it's got you pissed."

Artie breathes out and shakes his head, pulling back in his chair to wheel away. "I'm not pissed," he says quietly but then he stops. "At least, not with anyone but myself."

Sam steps in closer before falling down onto the plushy leather couch in the corner. The cushions whine with his weight before easing around him. Artie wheels back to look at him, staring at his fingers once he's stopped.

"Is it Quinn?" Sam asks and Artie looks around for a second before nodding gently. "What's goin' on there?"

"Nothing."

"And that's what's got you so up-tight?"

Artie shakes his head before leaning back and letting his head thud against the wall behind him. "No," he says. "She tried to kiss me this morning."

There's a pause, quite a long pause, where Sam says nothing and Artie refuses to look at him. When he does, Sam's looking at him like he's crazy or he just doesn't get what Artie's saying.

"Dude, that's a good thing," he says. Artie almost smiles.

Instead, he nods.

"Before she went to Miami and before all the crap started to happen, I probably would have let her but Santana was right what she said to me..." Sam waits for him to continue. "I'm not in this to help Quinn, I'm in this because I want her. At least, I didn't used to be in this to help her. I'm trying to be, it's just _so freaking hard_."

Sam looks at him and shrugs. Artie looks away and over to where the game menu still plays on the TV, the music still playing in the background.

"Yeah, but..." Sam starts. "Have you even spoken to her about it or are you just doing this because you feel guilty for what happened with Britt?" Artie's eyes lower to his lap. "Because, bro... you gotta understand that Santana's probably got other things on her mind right now."

Artie nods. "But... I just keep thinking and, like, I wonder if things would have been just a little easier if Britt had never left, you know? Like, with Santana and everything."

"What do you mean?" Sam says, eyes narrowing.

Artie shrugs and shakes his head. "Britt would know what to do," he says softly. "She'd know how to look after her properly. She'd know how to look after Quinn properly, too."

Sam looks like he doesn't understand the problem again. "So call her. Ask her to come back."

Artie sighs. "I think we're past that now," he says honestly. "I think it's probably too late."

"You won't know unless you try."

"I think it's Santana's choice now," Artie says. "And it's our job to respect her decision."

/

It's raining a little when Rachel finally comes to find them for lunch. She's fussing, worrying herself with rain drops littering the apron covering her front.

"Aren't we eating inside?" Artie asks softly as Sam reaches out to take the pile of plates from Rachel's hands before she drops them or they slip from her grasp. "I mean..." he says as he looks curiously at the made up table tucked under the patio awning. "...it's raining."

Rachel gives him a look that screams that she didn't want him to ask that, that she's probably been asked that ten times already.

"We're trying to take a break from the amount of phone calls and visitors the house keeps getting," she mutters under her breath. "It's becoming overwhelming."

Artie frowns and doesn't argue when Sam puts a bowl of salad in his lap before tucking a new pack of napkins down the side of his chair for him to carry. The three of them return to the table and Rachel arranges bowls of food over the table cloth as they watch.

"Santana's grandmother's body was moved to Frank's last night so that they could sit with her until she's ready for burial..."

Artie looks alarmed.

"It's a Catholic thing," Sam tells him with a smirk.

"Yes," Rachel says. "Anyway, her body was moved there last night and Frank put up the announcement of her death in the window of the bar to say that they would be closed until Tuesday and, well," Rachel shrugs. "Apparently she had a lot of friends that wish to pay their respects."

"Oh." Artie says, his eyes subconsciously looking to the upper floors of the house. "Is she doing okay?"

Rachel shakes her head and she looks like a woman possessed as she starts to arrange the plates in their settings, arranging the knives and forks around them and snatching the napkins from Artie's chair without even asking.

"She's..." she trails off. "Frank said that there would probably be people who come pay their respects in person and he told me to send them to him, but it feels like most of these people are ignoring him and coming anyway. It feels like..." She struggles a little. "It just feels like they're all treating her like she's some exhibit at the zoo. It's like... they're obviously noticing that her parents aren't here and that Frank is handling everything and they're just determined to find out what the deal is regardless of respect or tradition or... basic human decency."

Artie blinks.

"But is she doing okay?"

Rachel looks up at him and narrows her eyes. Artie tries not to comment when Sam steps up behind Rachel and presses his hands to her shoulders with a comforting squeeze.

"Yeah," she says, past the obvious blush growing in her cheeks. "Yeah. I mean, I talked with Libby and she says that Santana's pretty much set on not moving until she has to. She says that she just keeps drifting in and out of sleep and doesn't really say much, but... She says she'll sit with her and that if she's not there that someone should probably keep an eye on her..."

The three of them share a look. Artie sighs and furrows his brow, watching as Rachel drops into one of the seats. They watch her in silence until she seems energized and stands up again.

"Anyway, I thought we'd eat outside since it's still warm and some fresh air will be good for us all." When they don't say anything, she looks up at them. "Don't you think?"

They say nothing.

/

Things are tense as they eat.

At first, Artie assumes that it's because they're eating lunch so late but then he notices that no one's really eating at all. It's almost like none of them want to be sitting here, like the things plaguing them are too big to fit at the table as well, even though two of their number are missing.

"Can you pass the butter?" Artie asks and it sounds really loud. They all look around at him before turning back to their conversations.

And even they don't feel right.

Like, Blaine and Puck are talking to Sam about the weather. Kurt and Mike are politely sharing a conversation about nothing in particular. Tina and Mercedes seem to be having a slightly heated discussion beside Finn who stares daggers at Rachel across the table from him, next to Quinn who he finds looking back at him softly.

He's almost glad for it to be over until Quinn catches up to him on his way back to the pool house.

"He found Sam helping Rachel make lunch and yelled at her," she says before he says anything. Artie narrows his eyes and then looks back to where Finn pointedly glares at Sam as he helps Rachel and Blaine take the dishes back inside. "Like, he shouted at her for letting Sam chop tomatoes."

Artie looks at her and doesn't know what to say. He isn't sure how to act. There's a million things rushing through his head at once from the kiss they almost shared that morning, to the image of Quinn as Rachel and Santana had piled her into the car the week before, to the remembrance of the girl that read books with him at the library before he invited himself along on this trip. He hates himself a little for that, for the way he presumed and tricked himself into coming with them on this trip. If he thinks about it, that's probably the moment he should have known that things were going to get way out of hand: when the thought of his friend, his _friend_ who he occasionally exchanged books with, going to Florida with her best friend and the boy who got her pregnant made him shake with jealousy.

"That sucks," he says softly.

Quinn nods and her smile falters. He hates himself a little for that.

"Yeah," she nods. "I mean, Rachel's inherently a pain in the ass and always probably will be but... even I can admit that she's been getting a lot better recently. She doesn't deserve one of Finn's pointless diatribes."

Artie wants to point out that she hasn't been there the past week, that she hasn't seen how Sam and Rachel have been spending all their time together. Like, he knows they're friends but... it's getting hard to deny that it's more than that somehow. He doesn't know much more than what he's seen and what Sam's told him during their more frequently occurring bro chats, but he knows that it'd make him see red too.

But then again, he's trying to fix that... his need to blame and accuse.

"Are you doing anything?" Quinn asks softly, her voice changing, going higher. It's different, strange almost. He doesn't respond and he sees her falter, until her expression plasters itself more certainly against her face again. "I mean, we haven't really caught up since I've been back." He swallows and she tilts her head to the side. "I'd like to know how you are, you know? What you've been doing..."

He forces a smile, past the panic that suddenly washes over him. He doesn't trust himself. He can't. This morning and last night has shown him that already. He was supposed to distance himself from her, to allow her to heal and get better and come to terms with what she was dealing with. He wasn't supposed to muddy her brain with this... thing that he's not sure he understands yet. He just can't help himself. When it comes to her, she's different and he can't stop himself.

"Can I get a rain check?" he asks, his voice betraying any and all of what he's trying to hide and run from. "It's just... I promised my mom that I'd call her and let her know how everything's going this afternoon. Then I think Sam and I were gonna have a COD tournament or something..."

Quinn's face barely falls before she's pulling it back together. She smiles as kindly as she can.

"Sure, Artie," she says softly. "Of course."

He watches her walk back to the house, fighting the need to follow her until the second she disappears from view.

/

Sam slumps down on the couch in the empty pool house an hour later, red-faced and miserable. Artie looks up from his book and peers at him quietly before looking back at his page.

Sam scoffs dramatically a few moments later and Artie looks up at him with narrowed eyes that beg "_Really?_"

He looks back at his book when Sam doesn't instantly speak but then Sam makes the noise again until Artie's forced to look up at him and ask "God! What?"

Sam shakes his head. "Nothing."

Incredulous, Artie closes his book, if only to stop himself throwing it at him. He should be used to this after almost a week of manly heart-to-hearts but it still pisses him off when Sam's like this. Especially when Artie knows what he wants to talk about.

"You're an ass," he comments.

"He keeps yelling at her," Sam says instantly. "She doesn't even deserve it. Like, it's scary and she's like... really little and what do I do if he touches her, you know? He's such an asshole. She's allowed to have friends."

"Mhmm."

"And, like... so what if they're male and so what if she's been spending a lot of time with them?" he continues, ignoring Artie's obvious disinterest. "It's been a rough couple of days and, I mean, someone has to look out for her, right? And he isn't doing that for her. He's just sulking all the time because he can't understand that this is a house of grief now and there are things that have to happen. And it's just not Rachel he's getting pissed at. I mean, he's getting pissed at _Santana_, you know?"

Artie nods. "Yup."

Sam stops when he doesn't say anything else and shifts until he's looking at him.

"Okay," he says, voice low. "What's your issue, dude? Is it still the Quinn stuff because just go and freaking talk to her."

"I can't."

Sam has the guts to laugh at that. "Give me one reason why."

"Because I can't," Artie says, rolling his eyes. "That's the reason why."

"Which isn't really a reason at all, but a lame ass excuse because you're too pussy to do anything," Sam says as he gestures wildly. "Dude, Quinn wanted you to kiss her this morning. _She _tried to kiss _you_. Not the other way around. Sure, she's going through a lot of crap and she _knows _that, but maybe she wants you there. Maybe she wants to help you. Maybe, after a year of being on her freaking own with it she's ready to ask for help and she wants _you_ to help her. You won't freaking know unless you're there to talk and listen to her, but instead you're being a pussy and sitting in here brooding and reading..." he picks up the book. "...some dude named Walker Percy. Just freaking go to her."

"Well, I can't do that," Artie says again.

Sam shoves the book into his chest. "Pussy."

"Stop," Artie says shoving the book away. "Leave off. I can't do that."

"Pussy."

"I'm not a pussy," he mutters. "I'm just..."

"A freaking wimp."

That makes him snap a little. "Says the guy who's crushing on the girl with the boyfriend," he scoffs. "You can try and excuse what you're doing as much as you like but it doesn't change the fact that what you and Rachel are doing is as good as cheating. I thought _you _would understand what that feels like. I thought _you _would know better."

Sam's face falls and he stands. He looks around him, patting down his pockets like he's forgotten something. He walks to the door without a word but then he turns back with a lopsided smile on his face.

"Yeah, and I thought you were my friend," he says around a mirthless laugh. "I thought I could trust you and I thought that you could understand that I'm going through stuff and needed some support. I thought you understood that because that's what I'm trying to be for you."

Artie looks away, sudden guilt prickling at his cheeks.

"You like her, Artie," he says around another laugh. "Hell, I'd go as far as to say that you maybe even love her if you care this much." Artie's stomach plummets at the words. "And I can see that you're unhappy, so why don't you stop worrying about being the bad guy and just figure your shit out instead, huh?"

Despite everything else, all Artie remembers is one word that pounds in his head, in time with the thud of his heart.

* * *

><p><em>Rachel<em>

"He's my friend," she says for about the millionth time. Finn still paces around the room and she just wishes she could be somewhere else, somewhere where Finn isn't looking at her like she's the worst person in the world.

Somewhere where she doesn't feel strangely guilty for something she hasn't done.

At least not yet.

That's probably why she feels so guilty.

"Like Puck was your friend?" Finn says, his voice hard and on edge, his finger pointing at her as he pauses to spit the words at her. "Like freaking Jesse St. James was your friend?" He waves her off. "God, Rachel, you've been all over him for days. I'm starting to think that all of this _I'm not ready _crap has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me!" Her jaw drops, hurt. "Would you fuck him, Rachel? Would you let him fuck you first instead of me?"

Her voice stutters, mind too fast to stop herself from thinking about what it would be like. She's only just quick enough to stop herself from imagining it. She doesn't know whether she's happy or disappointed about that.

"This has nothing to do with that!" she says, voice high-pitched and desperate to be angry. "This isn't about my stupid virginity! This is about the fact that you _still _don't trust me after everything that happened with Puck! This is everything about how you're a giant hypocrite and an insecure little boy!"

"_I'm _insecure?" he spits. "How can you say that when you're the one throwing themselves at anyone who will have them?"

"How _dare _you?"

"It's the truth," he shrugs. "Me, Puck, Jesse, Sam... _Blaine_."

Her cheeks fill with pink and for a second she stops, thinking and wondering if maybe he's right.

"I don't have to listen to this..." she whispers. "This... nonsense."

"Sure," he says as she turns away, shaking his head. "Run away when the truth comes out."

"It's not the truth!" she shrieks back at him. "I'm with _you_," she says clearly. "I want to be with _you_. That's why I tried so hard to win you back all those months. Why do you would I _waste _that now?"

He lapses into silence and she stares at him and waits as he softly shakes his head. She can feel the panic rushing into all of her limbs, all the anger and frustration that she's so often felt when she speaks to Finn crystallizing within her. He doesn't look at her, instead he looks at the carpet and she feels so small and pathetic, she has to try hard not to wonder why she's even here.

"Then prove it," he says with a shrug.

She blinks slowly. "What?"

"Prove it," Finn says softly. "Prove that you want to be with me."

He doesn't say how... but she knows.

/

Her elbows rest on the table in front of her as she deliberates over what Finn said. Her eyes wide and her brain running at a mile a minute, she wonders what anyone else would do, what the smart thing to do is, how doing it would reflect back on her.

It feels... silly. It feels almost...

She shakes her head with that thought. He's just frustrated. Hurt. She gets that. She gets that she's been difficult but doesn't he understand that this isn't just some thing that she should jump into lightly? She's never going to get it back again. Choosing the right time and the right boy is something she needs to think about. She doesn't want to be one of those people who regret it. She doesn't want to hurt with the thought of it. It's not how things are supposed to go.

She imagined a safe place and a safe time, maybe candles and one of her favorite records playing in the background. Maybe they'd go out to dinner first, maybe there would be sparkling cider or, if she's older, a bottle of champagne. Maybe they'd be celebrating. Maybe she'd look at him one day and just know that she can't stand another minute without being with him that way.

She's not so naïve that she doesn't understand that sometimes things don't go that way. She knows nothing is ever that perfect, that _nothing_ ends up how you want it to go.

"Are you okay?"

She jumps. Sam smiles. Nerves bubble in her stomach and she instinctively pull herself closer to the table like it'll make things easier.

"I've been watching you through the window for like... an hour," he chuckles. "You look nervous about something. Are people still leaving cards and visiting?"

She shakes her head and avoids his eyes. She can't afford butterflies or the pounding of her heart in her chest right now. She's trying to think.

"No," she says, just because.

Sam sits down beside her and folds his hands over each other on the table.

"Is it Finn?" he asks softly. Her eyes fly to his and there are the butterflies, warm and humid inside of her, fluttering and swooping around.

She looks away instantly, cheeks burning and her heart pounding. "N-no..." she shakes her head. "Why would it be Finn?"

Sam pauses, leaning back into his chair and shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know," he says softly. Rachel looks around to see if anyone's watching instinctively. "He looked pretty mad at you earlier."

"He's my boyfriend," she reminds him.

Sam nods and then he's leaning forward again. She refuses to look at him.

"Exactly," Sam whispers coyly. "He's your boyfriend. He's not your master. You're not a dog. You don't have to be scolded for not doing as you're told. He's meant to treat you like a princess—like the star that you are—not like you're his freaking employee. Not like he's doing you a favor by being with you." She swallows thickly. "He should adore you. He should be proud to get to call you his. I know _I _would."

Her eyes flutter to him. "Sam..." she whispers.

She's wholly unprepared when his hand reaches over to hers and takes hold of her fingers. She breathes out, suddenly shaky and unable to think.

"Rachel," he says and it's completely unlike how anyone else has said her name before. It's like a spark of fire in her stomach and it scares her because she's never felt it before, that bubbling of warmth that makes her shake with need. It's the feeling she knows she should be feeling for her boyfriend but she doesn't. She doesn't feel it at all. All she feels is disappointment. And guilt. Mostly the guilt because he isn't that bad and it's not his fault. It's not his fault that she can't give herself over like that. It's not. It's her and her ridiculous fear, her childish dreams, getting in the way of her seeing how things should really be.

It's with that realization that she knows what she has to do.

She pulls her hand away reluctantly and stands up.

"I have to go," she whispers softly, avoiding looking at his face as it falls with disappointment.

He tries to grab her hand again. "Rachel..." he whispers.

"I have to go," she whispers again, tears pooling in her eyes thickly. "I have to go to Finn."

/

She kind of regrets offering to switch with Tina once everything blew up with her and Mike. It's going to make this easier, having somewhere to go without having to bother anyone.

She guesses it also holds the upside that no one will have to know it happened in the first place once it's over, and no one will judge her for losing her virginity when Santana's upstairs mourning the loss of her grandmother.

It's... insensitive in a way that she doesn't want to be.

"Finn?"

He looks up from where he's sulking in front of the TV in the living room and narrows his eyes at her. She flinches back from him a little.

"What you were saying earlier..." she starts. His ears prick up and for a few seconds she's perfectly ready to back out and tell him that won't happen. But then she thinks about Sam and she can't. She can't do that. She nods. "I'm... I'm ready."

His smile is too much in the worst way.

/

She doesn't know what she's doing or what's supposed to happen. This isn't something that her fathers ever sat her down and told her about and there was never anyone else willing. She's never been curious enough to check or honestly willing enough to prepare beyond putting on her prettiest nightdress.

She undresses herself and lays beneath him. She refuses to look at him as he removes all his clothes from his bottom half but leaves on his shirt. He hovers above her and then he's struggling his way inside her and it hurts. It hurts more than she's ever known anything to hurt and she doesn't know how to tell him but hopes that he'll figure it out anyway. She hopes that he'll see the discomfort in her face regardless of how hard she tries to hide it.

He doesn't though. He doesn't even look at her or ask her if she's okay, just thrusts above her and takes the way her nails dig into his biceps in the opposite way to which she means.

If she's honest, she just wants it to stop. She wants it to stop because she doesn't know how much longer she can take the pain without wincing. She waits and she waits for the pleasure to break its way through but it never does. The pain just morphs and changes into an ache or a burning sting.

It can't be more than a few minutes but it feels like forever. He's hot and sweaty and it doesn't help the pain. The heaviness of him against her doesn't help and when he finally stops and grunts, she holds her breath until he's rolling off of her.

She pants for fresh, cool air into her lungs, her legs shaking. She waits for him to say something, waits for him to ask if she's okay or say thank you or something, but he doesn't. He doesn't say anything and it's not until she hears him begin to snore than she even does anything.

And the only thing she can do is burst into tears.

/

She lays there beside him until she thinks she can move. She wants to cry but she doesn't him want to hear. That would just make things a million times worse. He'd probably yell at her again, tell her that she should have told him, but she could barely breathe let alone form words.

She's having that problem now, the air panting desperately into her lungs even though there's already some in there that she can't let out. Her hand shakes up onto her stomach and she presses against it to try and calm herself down but it doesn't really work. She's shaking too. Probably a bit too much and she's sure that he'll wake up if she doesn't do something.

She forces herself to sit up. Her legs ache and she winces as she forces them off the side of the bed to stand up. She stares down at him, at the sheets, until she sees the spots of red that litter there. Her eyes close and she gulps away the sudden need to cry and vomit at the same time. She reaches around the floor for her clothes, whimpering at the pain in her hips.

She pulls on her nightdress slowly, the need to vomit increasing the more that she sees him laying there, half naked and sated in front of her. She grabs her robe and backs away, opens the door as quietly as she can before she exits out of it.

Maybe she'll shower. Showering will help. Or maybe even a bath. No one will notice if she's quiet and then she can redress maybe sneak back in and get some clothes and pretend she woke up early.

She whimpers as her stomach aches with nausea and forces her legs quicker until she's upstairs and crossing the landing to the main bathroom and closing the door behind her.

She hasn't thrown up for a while and it hurts now, her stomach muscles screaming at her to stop even though she can't. She sobs into each lurch into the toilet bowl and can barely hear anything above the ringing in her ears.

When a shadow hovers over her and two warm, kind hands work their way into her hair, she's in too much distress to feel caught. She just feels relieved as one holds her hair out of her face and the other strokes over her back.

"Dammit, Berry," she hears softly and then she feels all the more worse because the last person she wanted roped into this mess was Santana.

She tries to push herself up, tries to disentangle Santana's hands from her hair. "I'm fine..." she slurs. "I'm fine..."

Santana clicks her tongue. "You're not fine. You're puking your guts up, so just hurry up and do it."

She pushes back again because, suddenly—really—she doesn't feel ill anymore. Santana clicks her tongue at her again but lets her, releases her hair and even smooths it down a little before she rocks back on her heels to look at her. Rachel lets her chin rest on the seat as her face turns to look at her.

"What was all that about?" Santana whispers softly. Too softly to be speaking to her. "Why are you puking in the dark?" Her eyes narrow. "You're not _pregnant_ are you?"

The words catch Rachel off-guard and her lip pouts out with the threat of tears until Santana's eyes soften with concern. She can't stop herself, though, and it doesn't take long before she's giving up on holding in the tears and lapsing into sobs. They shudder from within her with quiet despair.

"Hey... hey..." Santana says softly. Her hands reach out to catch Rachel as she buckles, pulling her away from the toilet so she can look at her. "What's all this about?"

Rachel sniffs in her breath, chokes on it.

"I gave Finn my virginity," she gasps out woefully.

Santana's eyes widen almost comically. "Then I can understand why you're vomiting."

The words make Rachel cry harder, make her feel more stupid than she already does. Santana makes a tiny noise of panic before she's pulling her into her arms, wrapping them uncertainly around her and letting Rachel rest her cheek on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, holding Rachel closer to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

Rachel makes the most of Santana's kindness and clings to her softly. Her hands clutch at the back of Santana's shirt, just above where her bandages are, and she noses into the warmth of her body. Beyond everything, Rachel's kind of shocked at how warm Santana is. She always equated loss with cold but Santana's warm, too warm, like she's been wrapped in twenty blankets and cuddled a hot water bottle. It's beyond comforting.

Her hands play in Rachel's hair and Rachel doesn't question it.

"Were you safe?" Santana mumbles when she's calmed down a little. Rachel's breath hitches. "I'm not gonna yell at you or anything," she says. "It's just... you know, in case we need to make plans."

Rachel snuggles into her, glad they're not facing each other because of how red her cheeks suddenly feel. "He used a condom," she whispers. "I made him. And I've been on birth control to regulate my periods since I was fourteen."

Santana laughs at that. "TMI, Berry, but good to know." She takes a deep breath in. There's something more serene about her all of a sudden. "Are you okay?"

Rachel hears the question beyond the obvious _do you feel nauseous still_? that she's already asked. She hears the, _how was it? _and the _was it that bad_? She hears all the questions neither of them really wants to ask or answer but need to be said anyway.

She clutches tighter to Santana and sniffs against the need to sob harder at the answers to the questions. She momentarily debates lying, but she doesn't think that's fair, not when Santana's being so kind. The truth is the only option there is, regardless of how unfortunate it is.

Still, she can't prevent how silly and pathetic she feels when she whimpers "it hurts" against Santana's shoulder. She sort of feels like a little kid who just skinned their knee.

To her credit, Santana makes enough fuss of her at the admission that Rachel begins to feel that maybe she did. She feels comforted and coddled all at once, like she's getting everything she needs and everything she wants to feel better. Santana holds Rachel closer and her hand drifts down to pull Rachel closer, cradling her to her.

"Oh, sweetie," she sighs so quietly that Rachel thinks she must have imagined it. For a second, through all the pain and anguish she feels, she's reminded just how little she really knows Santana. Despite that, she knows that she wouldn't want anyone else here with her right now. She knows that Santana will get it.

She feels no judgment when Santana's hands rub soothing circles on her back, only caring, only what Rachel can determine as worry.

"Did he..." Santana starts and her hand tightens in Rachel's hair for a second, smoothing it away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Rachel feels her shake her head, her body shifting for a second before a reluctant laugh escapes her. "Did he... did he..." she laughs. "Fuck, I don't know how to ask this. I'm just going to try and hope you get me. Did he get you ready?"

Rachel thinks she understands. She hates that she's not sure though. The fact that nothing Finn did comes to mind when she asks must mean something, though. If she can't think of anything, then that must mean...

"No," she whispers. "No, I don't... No."

Santana shakes again and then laughs again, bitterly. "I'm gonna kick his ass." She laughs again and holds Rachel closer still. "I told him... I told him... If he took nothing else, I'd hoped he'd take that little snippet of advice with him. Son of a bitch."

Rachel says nothing. She closes her eyes and tries not to think about him or how stupid she feels. Except, the stupidity she feels is slowly declining and replacing itself with something else. She doesn't want to think that it's humiliation but that's what it feels like.

"Are you..." Santana asks and she sounds choked up herself. "Are you..." She trails off and Rachel strangely feels the press of lips to her forehead before Santana's arms unwrap from around her. "Stay here, okay?" she whispers. "I won't be long."

Rachel trusts her.

/

Rachel's managed to press herself against the cold tile wall of the bathroom by the time she comes back a little while later. There are things piled into her arms and she looks glad to be so focused. It comes with ease and she smiles at Rachel as she clicks the bathroom door behind her.

"Okay," she breathes out, flushing and putting down the toilet seat before resting the pile of things atop it.

She doesn't even acknowledge Rachel for a few moments after that and instead concentrates on busying herself around the room. She pulls a fluffy clean towel from the linen closet in the corner before hanging it on the empty by the bathtub. She looks through all the bottles of bubbles and bath salts in the corner before turning to the bath and putting the stopper in. Rachel feels a tear roll down her cheek as Santana sits on the edge of the bath to measure how hot the water is.

"You don't have to," she says softly, finding her voice. It doesn't feel right that Santana's looking after her. She's the one that really needs to be looked after. She's the one that's really lost something. "I can... I can..."

Santana glances at her before shaking her head. "No, you can't."

"You don't have to, though," Rachel breathes out unsteadily. "You don't have to do this."

Santana shakes her head and laughs again. "I'm doing it," she assures and then shakes her head, her fingers still hovering under the rush of water from the faucet. "It's kind of good to have something to think about that isn't..." She trails off and glances at Rachel again. "I'm doing it," she says and it's final.

/

Santana helps her to her feet when the water's ready, thumb brushing over the backs of her hands as she leads her to sit on the edge of the tub.

"I—I didn't want to go downstairs but I found you some pajamas to wear and these are brand new," she lifts a pair of folded, plain black panties up for her to see. "Quinn and I went underwear shopping in Miami and I... you can keep them. And there's some socks and... and...well," Rachel's eyes fall to the pad sitting beside the socks and lets her stomach drop a little. Santana ignores that and smiles instead. "Do you want some painkillers?"

She nods dumbly. "Yes, please."

Santana nods and fetches some from the medicine cabinet above the mirror. She hands them to her before pausing.

"I'll be in the living room across the hall when you're done," she says softly. "Do you need anything else?"

"I'm fine."

Santana nods kindly. "Call me if you do," she says softly.

Once she's gone, Rachel bites back more tears.

/

Rachel's never really been in this room before. Santana's tucked into a cream couch at one side of the room, the curtains wide open and the TV playing quietly in the corner, even though she doesn't really look like she's watching it.

She's piled under a couple blankets and she smiles up at Rachel when she enters the room. Her glasses slip down her nose and Rachel smiles back awkwardly from where she stands in the doorway.

"I made you a chocolate milk," Santana says softly. Rachel looks and there's a tall glass of it sitting next to another, less full, glass beside it. "And, I don't know... I figured you'd want comfort food so I picked the first thing in the kitchen that said vegan on it."

Rachel smiles when she spots the Tupperware box of cookies she'd made earlier with the huge "VEGAN" post-it still stuck to the top.

"Is... is the chocolate milk vegan?"

Santana shrugs. "I used your soy milk in the fridge and made sure I knew which glass was in which hand when I brought them up." She looks at her curiously then and gulps. "Feeling better?"

Rachel nods because she does. "Much."

"Are you—are you gonna go back to bed?"

She breathes out unsteadily. "I can't think of anything worse."

Santana nods like that's what she expected. "You wanna watch TV?"

Rachel nods. Santana pulls back her blankets to reveal the empty spot on the couch beside her. Rachel crosses the room and falls into it, smiling when Santana lays the blankets back over her legs. She reaches forward to get Rachel's glass of chocolate milk before handing it to her. She sips on it, appreciating the cool sweetness.

"What are we watching?"

Santana breathes in. "Infomercials," she says gently. "I'm not sure I have the mental capacity to watch much else." Rachel laughs. "Plus, it's two in the morning. It's this or porn."

She gives Rachel a smile that Rachel returns. "This is good," she says around a chuckle. Santana nods in agreement.

/

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Rachel jolts from the hypnosis the television has somehow managed to put her under and glances at her from where her head it pillowed against her arm.

"You don't have to," Santana says. "I just thought you might want to. And, I don't know, it'd be okay if you wanted to give me more things to kick his ass for. I mean..." she looks away. "You seemed so nervous about it last week and like... I've heard him screaming at you all day. Why'd you change your mind?" Her brow furrows with confusion. "I mean... did he force you or..."

Rachel's stomach drops.

"No, no," she says too quickly and without really meaning to, cutting off anything else Santana might have said. "He just... he's just... I just..." _Truth_, she repeats to herself. "I have a crush on Sam," she admits and it feels good to say it out loud. Santana's brow shoots up but then her face contorts into an amused smirk. "Shut up," she says, trying not to smile herself.

"I didn't say anything," Santana smirks still. "But I will say that the thought of you and Trouty is adorable to me right now." Rachel's cheeks flush. Santana nudges her knee with the foot she has tucked up underneath her. "Did he find out, or..."

Rachel nods. "He asked me to prove that I still loved him," she whispers.

Santana gasps. "Rachel Berry, you did not lose your virginity for that reason." Rachel says nothing. "Rachel!" Santana breathes. "Are you high or something? Who does that?"

"I didn't want to mess it up again," she says quickly. Too quickly to be taken seriously. Santana gives her a look. She feels the tears welling in her eyes, the back of her throat begin to burn. "I mean, what if, you know? What if he's the one and I just keep ruining it because I'm scared or something? What if I'm just wasting time? What if I'm being an idiot and I end up losing him?"

Santana just stares.

"That's a terrible reason to have sex with someone," she comments and Rachel fights hard to stop herself from crying. She gives up a second later when Santana clicks her tongue and gestures for her to come closer. Rachel's head buries into the curve of Santana's waist, her fist under her chin as Santana's hand presses comfortingly to her shoulder. "If he's the one, he wouldn't have forced you into this. He would have respected it _and_ you, as well as having the decency to wait. It would have been organic and... right and... perfect for you."

Rachel wipes her tears away. "That's what your first time was like?"

She's glad and disappointed they're not looking at each other anymore when Santana takes a few moments to answer.

"_Yeah_," she breathes and Rachel's more glad than anything else. "Yeah, it was."

She nuzzles her head into Santana's side and picks at the blanket, her curiosity spiked and desperate. She tilts her head slightly for a second and finds the tears already welling in Santana's eyes. Her hand is shaking a little on Rachel's shoulder and she doesn't know why, but she feels like she needs to ask the question and not even for her own benefit.

"Was your first time..." she starts. "Was it with—"

"Yeah..." Santana says before she can say her name.

Rachel smiles at that. "How did it happen?" she asks. She reaches up her left hand to press against the fingers of Santana's right that rests on her shoulder. "I mean... How old were you guys?"

Santana's hand reaches up to swipe over her eyes. "Fifteen," she whispers. "Like... a couple weeks after my fifteenth birthday."

Rachel smiles at that. "A couple?" she asks knowingly.

Santana breathes out. "Eighteen days," she whispers. "I only remember because the Saturday after my birthday I had a sleepover. My mom made me. She said I could have a real party when I turned sixteen. I was still trying to impress the other girls and scare em at the same time so I didn't mind."

She pauses and Rachel hangs on her every word, knowing she's now privy to information not many others know. Maybe nobody.

"It sucked. I remember feeling so disappointed halfway through and I'd just wished it'd been me and Britt. All the girls were talking about boys and bitching at each other and I just... they didn't care about _me_..." She gulps. Rachel feels it. "They barely even acknowledged me. Britt was there the whole night asking me if I was having a good time and could see that I wasn't. The whole time I just remember thinking it would be the best sleepover ever if I got to kiss her."

"Had you kissed her before?"

Santana nods and glances down at where Rachel has her head tilted back to look at her. She wipes the silent tears on her cheeks. "Yeah."

"Was she your first kiss, too?" Rachel asks around a smile.

Santana's cheeks actually pink a little. "Yeah," her lip trembles a little. "She kissed me the morning after her own birthday like... a couple months before." It trembles again and Rachel's brow furrows in concern. "Just like she kissed me the morning after my birthday sleepover. Just like she's kissed me after every sleepover since that first time." She takes a moment to compose herself. "Well apart from the one the week after. We'd been to our first high school party and, I knew she'd kissed other people after me, I knew she had and we'd talked about it but seeing her kiss some senior made me feel sick. It made me feel sick. I got so mad at her."

"You were jealous," Rachel says and she's sure she's trying to be comforting but it doesn't really work that way.

Santana shakes her head. "No, I was scared. I was so scared and then I got more scared because I was so scared and then I just... I got angry. I pushed her away when she tried to kiss me the morning after and I just..." Rachel's heart squeezes at the sudden frustration on Santana's face. "I barely spoke to her for a week. It was the worst week ever, up until that point... up until..." The _now_ goes unsaid. "I thought I'd lost her and then on Saturday morning she was there on my doorstep with her overnight bag for our usual sleepover and I just... I was so _relieved_."

"And that's why you had sex with her?"

"No," Santana shakes her head. "No, of course not." She takes a deep breath in and she shifts underneath Rachel as her eyes settle on the television like it's replaying everything back to her just so she can explain. "I had sex with her because—because being without her had made me realize how in love with her I was. How in love with her I am. How in love with her I always _will be_... and it was the only way I knew how to show her."

Rachel feels tears and understanding filling her up. She swallows and finds it hard to take her eyes from the awe-filled look in Santana's face, the relief that coats her features too. She forgot how heavy secrets are to carry.

Still, her own worry and curiosity spike inside of her quickly.

"Were you..." she starts. "Were you scared?"

Santana gasps out a laugh. "I was terrified." She shakes her head. "I was terrified. I'd never kissed her at any time other than the morning and I was so scared she'd push me away. I was..." The words turn bitter on Santana's tongue all of a sudden and she swallows them down like bile to try again. "I was so scared she wouldn't want me."

With the shake of Santana's entire body at the words, something tells Rachel that she still is.

"But she did," Rachel reminds her in a whisper.

Santana's eyes widen like she still can't believe it. "Yeah."

Rachel smiles. "And did she kiss you the morning after?"

Breath suddenly pants from within Santana and her face screws up with so much anguish and pain that Rachel doesn't understand it. She doesn't understand it as Santana's hand presses to her chest to clutch at her heart, her lungs, that seem to be causing her so much trouble. Rachel jumps up and reaches for her, jolting when Santana looks at her suddenly.

"I never gave her the chance," she whispers sadly, quieter than anything else.

And in those few quiet words, Rachel gets it.

* * *

><p><em>Quinn<em>

Waking up to Rachel Berry being loud should be nothing new by now. After all these weeks and all the time they've spent together, waking up to Rachel Berry screaming at someone or dropping something is really, really nothing to be worried about. In fact, she'd kind of gotten used to it.

It's when Rachel Berry's waking her up being quiet and frantic that she gets really worried.

Especially when she's saying the words that Quinn really, really doesn't want to hear.

"Santana's gone."

The sudden panic that fills her stomach feels like a punch. Her eyes grow wide and, past the sudden pounding of blood in her ears and the rush of adrenaline that makes her body tingle, she tries her hardest to stay calm.

She sits up and almost butts Rachel in the head.

"What do you mean she's gone?" she asks lowly. Her hands grip the sheets.

Rachel steps back away from her. "I mean that she's gone," she says. "I was watching TV with her downstairs last night and then when I woke up she was gone. She's not in her room or anywhere. I checked. She's gone."

For once, Quinn's happy for Rachel's motormouth because it stops her from wasting time asking questions. She throws back the covers without another word and jumps out of bed before striding out of her room and across the hall.

"Did you check and see if she'd taken anything with her?" she calls back to Rachel in hushed tones. The last thing she wants is everyone panicking for no reason. She's probably just gone for a walk and forgot to tell someone. She probably just needed to get some air and Quinn really doesn't blame her.

Rachel shakes her head at her question and Quinn feels relieved already, just at her sudden guilty look of embarrassment. "I didn't—I didn't think... We—She had a rough night."

Quinn doesn't even glance at her. She just concentrates on how the bed hasn't been slept in. "She's been having a rough week, Rachel."

Rachel nods quickly. "I know, I know, I just..."

Quinn opens the closet but closes it quickly when she remembers that it's mostly her grandmother's clothes. There would be no way to tell if she'd gone anywhere. She strides across to the dresser and the fact that her contacts case still sits on the top should be enough but she opens the drawers anyway.

Underwear, her stupid collection of dorky t-shirts, her shorts and her ridiculously large amount of tight dresses are still there... Nothing's gone.

Nothing... except...

Quinn breathes out easily and knowingly.

She turns to Rachel anyway, just to check.

"Have you cleaned in here or anything? Tidied anything away?"

Rachel narrows her eyes and shakes her head with confusion. "No," she says softly. "Why?"

Her legs wander backwards until she can slump down on the bed. She closes her eyes.

"When I got to the hospital after Santana's grandmother died, she was holding her grandmother's wedding ring and her crucifix," Quinn explains softly. "She fell asleep and Libby asked me to keep hold of them for her, so I put them in my pocket. She also said that Santana would want her grandmother's rosary, so I put that in my pocket too, but I completely forgot about it."

Rachel looks at her confused. "So?"

Quinn gestures to the dresser. "I was unpacking my things last night, so I could do some laundry today, when I found them all still in my pocket. I brought them all in here and put them on the dresser before I went to bed so I wouldn't forget."

Rachel glances at the dresser. "Then where are they?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Probably with Santana," she sighs. "What time is it?"

Rachel checks the clock behind her on the nightstand. "Like... almost six am."

Quinn could punch her, except she'd probably be the same if she'd woke up to Santana being missing too. Not so much now she's sure she knows exactly where she is.

"Get dressed," she instructs idly. "We're going for a walk."

/

"Stay out here," Quinn says as they approach the church.

Rachel stops mid-stride and looks at her. "If I'm not going to help, why did you bring me?"

Quinn turns to her but doesn't stop walking. It's kinda chilly from the rain yesterday, or maybe from where her body still wants to be in bed, and it makes her angry that Rachel wants to stop when they could be surrounded by the warmth of the church.

"Rachel," she says calmly. "This isn't some mission we're on. We're just going to check she's okay. You're more than welcome to come in if you feel like praying to Jesus or the Virgin Mary. I just don't want to interrupt her if she's... ya know?"

Rachel nods quickly in understanding. It's not until they're a little closer that Rachel actually speaks.

"It's probably a good idea actually," she comments idly. "I don't want God to know what I did and strike me down in his house or something."

Quinn looks at her incredulously but doesn't have the energy to ask.

/

She's huddled in a pew at the front of the church, head bowed and hair all over the place. She looks like she's just pulled her overalls up over her pajamas and Quinn walks slowly so as not to alarm her as she enters the church to check on her.

She meant what she said. She doesn't want to interrupt her; she just wants to make sure that she's okay. She wants to make sure that there's someone there in case she needs them, someone who won't judge or ask questions to why she's here, to why she's so wound up with desperation that she's in the last place Quinn or anyone else would ever expect her to be.

She wants someone here to watch over her as she reaches for her last resort and clutches it close to her chest. Quinn can see from here that she's not clutching the rosary she'd left on her dresser last night. Baby blue beads don't flow between her fingers; black ones do. It makes Quinn's heart stop for a second when she realizes that tears are flowing between her fingers too.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee," come the whispered pleas from Santana's mouth. "Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

Quinn doesn't say anything, just drops to one knee and crosses herself before she slowly slips into the pew behind Santana, keeping her distance as she watches. Santana pauses a moment as she sits but doesn't turn to her, makes no other sign that she's noticed she's here. Quinn takes that as consent that it's okay she's here.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee," she begins again a few seconds later. "Blessed art thou among women... and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus... Holy Mary... Mother of God..." Quinn watches as Santana buries the heels of her hands into the corners of her eyes, forcing away the tears. "Pray for us sinner now... and at the hour of our death. Amen." Quinn watches as she shifts the beads between her fingers. "Jesus, Mary, and Saint Anne, please grant the favor I ask. _Please_... give me strength. _Please_."

Quinn looks away as she begins again and can't bear to think about how long she's been sat here, on her knees, begging. She can't think about how many prayers she's said, how much she's begged. She doesn't want to. It draws up so many reminders of the amounts of praying she's done in her life, how little it really eases the ache. She understands that no matter how many people tell you that they're there for you, sometimes they can never live up to those that you really want.

That's why she drops to her knees behind Santana and begins to say the words softly with her. Maybe they'll be heard better if two people say them.

All Quinn hears is Santana's sobs.

"Hail Mary..." she whispers softly and the words stutter from her. She closes her eyes and tries to remember them clearly even though she barely can, her own words a few seconds behind Santana's who only pauses to rasp in breaths and ease out sobs. "...Pray for us sinners now... and at the hour of our death... Amen."

"Jesus, Mary and Saint Anne," Santana sniffs out once they've finished. "Please grant the favor I ask... please give me strength."

_Yes _Quinn thinks. _Both of us._

/

"Rachel's too afraid to come inside in case she gets hit by lightning," Quinn says idly, just to say something.

They've been sat quietly at the pew for a while. The priests haven't bothered them since they arrived and didn't say anything when Santana chose to just sit in silence through the first Sunday Mass of the day without participating. They just mill around them now, relighting and lighting candles in time for the next service.

One, an older priest who delivered the mass, keeps giving them sideways worried glances. Quinn assumes that he probably knows who Santana is and will probably be the one who officiates her grandmother's funeral. He looks kind and understanding. Quinn wonders how much he really knows. They seem like a tight-knit community around here.

"She seems to think she did something worthy of it," she goes on with a tiny laugh. "Maybe she forgot she was a vegan or something."

Santana breathes out and blinks out some more tears. She seems to have given up wiping them away. "She gave it up to Finn," she whispers softly. "Which... sex with him is an abomination, so maybe she has a point."

Quinn laughs as quietly as she can at that. "Well, maybe the fact that she had sex with Finn is punishment enough." She pauses then, unable to deny the thing nagging at her. "Was she safe?"

Santana nods slowly and she's filled with an odd sense of relief. For a second, Quinn thinks about Tina and wonders if she knows for sure if she's pregnant yet before quickly pushing those thoughts away. They promptly follow sudden thoughts of Artie that make Quinn feel a million different things at once.

"How long have you been here?" Quinn asks quietly.

Santana shakes her head noncommittally. "I woke up at like... four am. Couldn't sit in the house anymore. It was driving me crazy."

"Are you allowed to be here at that time?"

"I've been doing it since I was a little," she says softly. "You're supposed to use the chapel but... the chapel freaks me out. I like the light in here and Father Fuentes doesn't mind."

Quinn turns to the old priest who lingers at the back of the church and assumes that he's Father Fuentes. She turns back to Santana quietly.

"Does he know about your grandmother?" she asks softly. Santana nods. "And he's okay with... everything?"

Santana rolls the black beads between her fingers again. Quinn watches them and notices that Santana's wearing her grandmother's wedding ring on her left hand. It makes her sure that she's probably wearing her crucifix too and for some reason it makes her feel choked up a little.

"Libby said that he gets it," Santana explains. "She says that my grandmother believed

God and Mary and the saints loved her and protected her no matter what. That she believed that God made her the way she was for a reason." Santana pauses. "I asked her if my grandmother ever tried to pray it away but she said she didn't. At least, that's what she told Libby."

Quinn nods. She knows that she's tried to pray a lot of things away before. She doubts she'd ever admit to it though. Looking back, it seems silly to try and change something like that.

"Have you?"

It shocks her how quickly Santana shakes her head and she doubts her for a second because of how adamant she is. But then she speaks.

"I was never raised to believe anything other than what she taught me," Santana explains. "When I was born, I was born early and they didn't think I was gonna make it. My parents got married in the summer between undergrad and medical school and they'd been trying to get pregnant for _years_ before my mom got pregnant with me. There were like... miscarriages and false positives and... then she went into labor early and had a hemorrhage and then I was in the freaking NICU and she was being told she wouldn't be able to have kids because of the damage. They thought I was going to die. My abuela had made them pray to Saint Anne every single day for years to have a baby and then the doctors were telling them I might die and they were ready to give up." Santana stops and the fact that they have now goes unsaid. "And then there was my abuela and she never gave up praying to Saint Anne. She believed with everything she had that Saint Anne would protect me, so that's what she taught me."

Quinn smiles. "And now here you are."

Santana nods. "And now here I am," she says. "For what it's worth."

Quinn breathes out. "You'll be fine," she says. "You'll... we'll go back to Lima and we'll figure something out and you'll be fine. You'll be fine."

Everything goes quiet then. Santana stares at the rosary in her hands. It unnerves Quinn and she looks to her left to see Santana sitting there, quietly shaking her head. The look of determination and resignation on her face, that looks so sure and decided, makes Quinn feel sick.

She's sure she knows what Santana's going to say before she's said it.

"I'm not going back, Quinn," she whispers and even though Quinn knew, it still feels like a kick to the chest while she was already clambering to get back up. She whips around to look at her in disbelief. Santana shrugs her shoulders. "I _can't_. There's nothing there for me anymore."

She feels less pathetic than she expected when the first words that leave her mouth are, "What about me?"

Santana smiles sadly. "The last thing you need is me dragging you down, Quinn Fabray," she says and the answer sounds practiced, like she's thought about the question.

Quinn feels tears in her eyes as she laughs and looks away, up to the church ceiling.

"What about Britt?"

Santana flinches at the name, shifts awkwardly in her chair and stares into her lap. Quinn can already tell that she's found the weak spot, the top of the pros _and_ cons list, the only thing that could probably ever change her mind or make it up for her.

It feels like the most wrong thing in the world when Santana shrugs her shoulders.

"She gave up on me," Santana whispers barely. "I don't want to bother her more than I already have."

Quinn scoffs. "You won't know whether you are unless you talk to her."

Santana's face falls and she shakes her head, studies her hand and the gold band now wrapped around her ring finger. She twists it, probably in time with the twisting of her heart and shakes her head all the while, still resigned, still determined.

"I can't do that," she whispers softly. "I can't listen to her reject me again. I can't."

Quinn scoffs frustratedly. Why does she have to be so freaking stupid?

"You won't know unless—" she starts but Santana cuts her off.

"Then I'd rather not know," Santana says with a warning edge to her voice. Quinn feels herself panic, even as she understands Santana completely. She understands every single bit of it but she still can't stop herself from feeling like there's got to be more.

Santana's not giving up; she's just clinging to her last sliver of hope.

* * *

><p><em>Artie<em>

He tries to pretend like he isn't panicking when Santana, Quinn and Rachel wander into the house around ten am looking exhausted and worse for wear. He just sits by the stove where Sam's fixing up breakfast for everyone and returns the struggled, kind smile that Quinn gives him as she guides Santana upstairs.

"Where were you guys?" he asks coolly when Rachel steps up to help Sam, avoiding his eyes. Artie sees how Sam takes in Rachel's unfamiliar attire: the sweat pants and the baggy shirt, her unkempt hair and lack of animal knit sweater. Rachel turns to him and puts on a fake, struggled smile.

"Don't worry about it," she says softly. "Santana just... she just needed to go somewhere this morning so we went with her."

It's not the answer he was looking for but he tries not to take it as an offense against him. It probably had nothing to do with him and therefore he has no right to know. He's trying really hard to teach himself that just because someone doesn't want to tell him something doesn't mean they're attacking him. He's trying really hard to remember that not everything is about what he wants. He gets that now.

"Well, is she okay?" he asks, understanding that these are the questions he should be asking.

Rachel's eyes widen through her exhaustion and she smiles again. "Yeah, I think so," she nods. "She just needed to go somewhere to do something."

Artie nods and tries not to ask what it was, tries not to feel out of the loop. Instead he tightens his jaw and nods, accepting what Rachel tells him.

It's harder than he thought.

/

They're eating their food in silence when Quinn finally comes downstairs. Artie stops eating and looks up at her, but then quickly resumes eating when he realizes she's looking. He watches her from the corner of his eye as she comes to stand behind Rachel's chair and clears her throat. No one really looks up from their food, too engrossed in themselves to care.

Artie's glad when Rachel notices she's there.

"What's wrong, Quinn?" she asks softly, twisting in her chair. Everyone else looks up lazily too. Artie follows them and notices the worry on Quinn's cheeks, the strain.

"I need to tell you guys something," she says quietly. Everyone's brows furrow at the words and there should be a million things rushing to Artie's head to what she could possibly want to tell them, but all he worries about is her. There must be something wrong with _her_. Quinn is looking at him when she speaks, a determined look on her face. "Santana says she isn't coming back to Lima with us."

He feels guilty once he's processed her words, then he feels completely lost at hearing them. The panic on Quinn's face worries him, scares him even, and he tells himself to be objective instead of just jumping in head-first to make that panic go away. He repeats in his head over and over again to _do the right thing, do the right thing_, no matter what it is. He knows he can't be rash because now he knows where that gets him.

"What?" Rachel whispers and she sounds more disappointed and shocked than anyone. She looks more shocked than all the faces that surround them and it makes him feel better that someone's being dramatic enough for all of them. Except, maybe she's not being dramatic. "Why?"

Quinn shrugs and lets Rachel pull her into an empty chair. Artie's eyes flick to Sam as he pulls a clean mug from the counter behind him and pours it with fresh coffee. He hands it to Quinn who holds it in her hands comfortably.

"She says that there's nothing there for her anymore," Quinn explains and everyone's listening to her either intently or reluctantly. Artie washes with a mix of anger and gratefulness at the sight of them. "Her parents have just..." Quinn shakes her head. "They walked away and Santana doesn't even know if she has a place to stay in Lima anymore, you know? I said that we could work something out but she doesn't see the point when... when she's inherited this place." Eyes widen at that and Artie ignores them. "She's got her family here and... I don't know. It feels like she's taking the easiest option."

Rachel leans into her conspiratorially, her eyes narrow and worried. "What—what about Brittany?" she asks softly.

That gets everyone's attention: the gossip, the scandal, the possibility of finding out something that they actually have the capacity to care about. Artie breathes out to calm himself down and his eyes catch with Sam who almost looks just as pissed at them as he feels.

Quinn shakes her head and leans forward onto the table, picking up the sugar and playing with it in her hands. "I'm pretty sure that's the only thing keeping her on the fence about it," she breathes. "But she doesn't even want to talk about her... I told her that she should just call her and speak to her but she refused. She says she can't. She just... she doesn't want to do that."

"So, call Britt for her and get her to come back," Mercedes says from across the table. The words spark panic in Artie, leftover remnants of the guilt he has left from being the one who allowed Brittany to leave in the first place returning to the surface.

He can't help but feel like they've meddled enough in this already for all the wrong reasons and without really knowing what they're doing.

That's why he can't understand when Quinn says, "That's what I was thinking, too."

His jaw drops open and his brow furrows and he shakes his head at her, overcome with the need to do things _right _for once.

"No," he says softly, and then louder. "No, we can't do that."

Quinn's brow furrows. "What?" she asks incredulously.

Artie shakes his head at her. "We've got no right to meddle in this," he says. "None of us."

"They're _hurting_," Quinn tells him, angry and matter-of-fact and in a way that he can be sure she isn't thinking about them. She's thinking about herself. _She's_ the one hurting.

"You don't know that," he says, shaking his head. "All you know is that Santana's hurting. None of us have heard from Britt. You've been in Miami all week and you haven't been the person who's been calling Britt's cell every day to see if she'll pick up." Quinn's mouth drops. "She _hasn't_, but that's not the point. We don't know how she is and we won't unless she comes to us. For all we know, if we were able to get into contact with her, we could be setting Santana up for just another load of hurt." He shakes his head. "I know Santana's hurting. We _all_ are in our own separate ways, but we can't meddle with this if we can't be sure it isn't just going to hurt one of them more." He takes the break off his chair and starts wheeling away. "And if you guys _are _gonna meddle in it then..." he shrugs his shoulders. "Count me out. I'm already to blame for this enough as it is already."

/

He makes it to the threshold of the pool house before Quinn catches up with him unexpectedly. She grabs on the handles of his chair and pulls him back quickly, spinning him around so that she can see him. Her face is red and angry and he pulls back a little, scared of what she's going to do.

"What the hell is your problem?" she asks angrily but as he looks closer, he can see that she's on the verge of tears and trying desperately to hold them in. "Now you want to be the do-nothing good guy? Now you wanna be like fucking Finn Hudson pretending you're the hero when you're just being a damn hypocrite? Now you wanna stop helping when it's got nothing to do with improving your circumstances anymore? Is that it?"

His mouth drops and he scoffs despite the nagging thought of _maybe _that pulls in his chest.

"No," he says adamantly. "No! Of course not! No!"

She shoves him hard enough that he has to grip his wheels to steady himself. It scares him a little, the explicit frustration in her face, the anger and the hurt. It's the same hurt he'd seen a week before in her bedroom. There had been broken glass and blood then. His heart beats faster because that's the last thing he wants now.

_God_, he thinks as he realizes that's probably exactly what's going to happen. He's made her lose it again, caused another break down when he was trying to do everything but.

"Then _what?_" Quinn shouts and shoves him again. He takes it. "You don't want to know anymore now that there's nothing in it for you anymore? Huh? You're bored now that you've figured out I'm broken, that you don't want me anymore. Now that Tina's single and you can raise your damn baby together without her boyfriend or the crazy depressed teen mom getting in the way and reminding you of what things could have been! Is that it?"

She shoves him again, asking "huh?" with every shove. It hurts after a while and he wonders if there will be a bruise. He wonders how long he can keep this up without her stopping, how long he can take all her hurtful words without snapping.

But it seems the more quiet he is, the worse she gets.

"Is that it?" she asks frantically. "_Is it_?"

"NO!" he screams.

He regrets it except for the fact that it makes her jump and step back from him. He shakes his head and takes the reprieve to run his hands over the ache in his shoulders.

"God, Quinn! Tina's not even pregnant!" he groans. "She took a damn test and it came back negative. I haven't said a word to her since you left! Rachel told me because I was worrying so much about you and so much about the fact that I didn't know what I was going to happen if she _was _that I practically went insane..."

He's glad that she doesn't hit him after that. She just looks at him through narrow eyes and panted breaths to calm herself. He goes on, just because he knows she's listening.

"Do you have _any _idea what it's been like?" he asks breathlessly, suddenly overcome with the need to cry himself. "Do you have any clue what it's been like watching you every freaking day for the past month knowing that there's something wrong and not knowing how to even ask or understand what it could be? Do you understand that? Do you understand how scared I was? How scared I _am_? Do you know how selfish I feel? I feel like I _forced_ you into admitting how sick you are. I feel like I'm to blame for it and I know that's selfish but I can't help it." He laughs. "You _terrify _me, Quinn. You're everything—everything—I want in a girl and everything I don't at the same time."

She opens her mouth to retort but he shakes his head.

"The boys you've dated..." he starts. "The boys you've dated are not like me, Quinn. You've been with Finn and Puck and Sam and I've... I've been cheated on by both the girls I've dated and I can already tell that you don't know what you want when it comes to being with me." Her head drops and he sighs. "You're a mess, Quinn. You're a mess and so am I and I don't want our mutual messes to mix together because it's just going to end up in us both getting hurt." He shakes his head. "Look at what happened in Orlando, Quinn. I was so sure that you wanted me but then—but then you had sex with Puck. Look at what happened when you found out Tina might be pregnant. You pushed me away. I just... we're not good for each other right now. Hell, we can't even be certain if we even really _like _each other. This could all just be... us trying to use each other to get better."

"Artie..."

"You can tell me I'm wrong," he says quickly. "You can try. I know you'd be kind enough to try, but I know... I know that I'm right. I know that I made you worse more than I made you better but... I think we should just... hold off for a while, don't you think?" he asks. "Maybe wait and see?"

Except he doesn't give her time to answer, choosing instead to turn himself around and head inside. He expects her to leave it at that but what he doesn't expect is her pulling on the handles of his chair again to hold him still.

"You're nothing like the boys I've dated," she whispers and her voice sounds thick and full of tears. He closes his eyes, guilty, and waits. "You're better. You're better than any man I've known and I've never been more disappointed in you than I am right now."

She laughs mirthlessly. It's beautiful in a weird way.

"I am a mess. I'm a mess and I've been a mess a really long time," she pauses. "Longer than I think people realize. They're plugging me full of pills to rid me of this one thing but they don't realize that it's been going on longer than getting pregnant at sixteen. I've been a mess for a really long time and the only time I've haven't felt like a mess is when I'm with you."

He holds his breath and waits for her to carry on.

"I want you, Artie Abrams," she whispers and her hands smooth over his shoulders. For a second he's disappointed they're not looking at each other. "You're the only boy—man—that's ever made me feel good enough. And do you know why I keep pushing you away?" He gives a slight nod. "Because I'm scared you won't stick around like the rest of them, that you'll pick something better once you've found it. And you can try and tell me you won't but you've already done it."

He turns his head to her, confused, and hears the little sob that leaves her.

"You already did it in Orlando," she explains and now he's really confused. He goes to ask her what she means but she's already talking. "I came to find you when everyone was arguing. Britt said that you'd gone to the store and you'd been forever, so I came looking for you and I saw you kissing Tina in the lobby." He breathes out and closes his eyes in understanding, disappointment and frustration. "I saw you kissing her, so I went back upstairs and I slept with Puck. Because you chose someone else and I know I can't do any better."

He tries to turn to her again but she squeezes her hands into his shoulders, adamant for him to stay turned away, like she can't speak if he can see her.

"And it sucks because... because..." she whimpers a little and then laughs. "Because I think I'm falling in love with you anyway, Artie Abrams."

The words take his breath and all response he might have had away from him. His eyes widen and he wants to smile, wants to be ecstatic, but he can't. Her hands remain firm on his shoulders, keeping him turned away from her.

"But it's okay," she whispers, toying with the hair at the back of his neck. "I'll get over it."

And then she's gone and he's not quick enough to chase after, still too shocked by her words.

* * *

><p><em>Rachel<em>

She's been avoiding being alone with Finn or Sam all morning and only one of them seems to care.

It should probably worry her that the one who cares isn't her boyfriend.

The same boyfriend she gave her virginity to just over twelve hours ago.

"Just talk to him."

She jumps and starts, arms flailing a little as she comes face to face with Quinn. "Who?" she asks and tells herself not to mention that she can see that Quinn's been crying.

Quinn just laughs a little. "Whichever one it is that's turned you into a freaking scared kitten," she says. "Can you—" she hands Rachel the kettle in her hands and then gestures with her still bandaged hands. "I'm not sure I have any spare bandages left from the hospital."

"I could go get..." she starts but Quinn shakes her head as Rachel wordlessly fill the kettle and then puts it on the stove top.

"I was thinking I'd just get the most out of these and then take them off," she says softly, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

Rachel nods in agreement as she finds Quinn an empty mug. She seems to favor the one with the tiny floral pattern that no one else ever uses, so Rachel finds that one, hoping that it might cheer her up a little. She hands Quinn the tin of tea from the pantry and wordlessly lets her thumb her way through it until she pulls out one of the fancy cinnamon and cherry bags and puts it in the cup.

"So?"

Rachel looks around confused to find Quinn smirking at her knowingly. She shakes her head. "Which one is it?"

Rachel narrows her eyes. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Quinn laughs properly at that. "Which dumb ass are you avoiding?"

"Sam's not a dumb ass," she comments before she can tell her mouth not to. Quinn grins. "And neither is Finn."

"But those are who you're avoiding?" she asks amused. Rachel isn't sure if she's teasing or not, so she just stands by the stove until the kettle starts whistling, then pours the water into Quinn's cup. When Quinn pushes out one of the chairs with her foot, Rachel drops down into it gently. Quinn watches her curiously for a second, playing with the string on the tea bag. "So, I guess it sucked huh?"

Rachel sighs knowing instantly what she's talking about. "If you're planning on giving me an I-told-you-so you don't have to... I already know how stupid I was."

"Are."

Rachel looks at her. "Excuse me?"

Quinn smirks. "Are," she repeats. "How stupid you _are_. Why are you with him?"

Her answer is robotic. "I love him."

"Except do you really?" Quinn says in a low voice. "Because you deserve better. And this isn't me trying to urge you to scoop up my sloppy seconds... or maybe thirds because Santana's had him too..." The realization appears to perplex Quinn. "But, anyway, Sam has been sat in the living room playing cheesy love ballads with the door open for like... half an hour now while Finn is watching animals mating on the Discovery Channel with his hand down his pants."

Rachel shifts uncomfortably, not sure whether to smile or grimace. "So?"

"So talk to him," Quinn says, picking up her tea and tossing the bag into the trash. "Or both of them... just... figure your shit out, Berry."

"Can't I just wait and see?"

Quinn rolls her eyes and slaps her on the arm as she walks past to leave the room. "No," she says. "You can't."

It pulls a groan from her and she collapses onto the table top dramatically, pillowing her already tired head into her arms. She jumps against when someone slams a hand down onto the table. When she sees it's Quinn, she's ready to chastise her and check her bandages until she sees that she did it with her good hand... and that she's giggling uncontrollably.

"I just wanted to say," she says grinning with amusement as Rachel glares. "I just wanted to say that you deserve better than the boy who's getting turned on by gorillas. Unless you're turned on by that..." she adds. Then shrugs. "But still... comment still stands."

She leaves and Rachel's not sure whether to be touched or offended.

/

She doesn't listen to Quinn.

She doesn't have time. She checked in the pantry and realized she needs to do more grocery shopping.

She's pretty sure Finn keeps raiding the fridge when he knows nobody's looking, no matter how many times she reminds him that he's not the one paying for the food.

She's not sure, of course. It could be anyone. It's just that she's caught Finn with a box of cookies that were meant for all of them last week and then he used the last of the milk on a bowl of cereal at eleven at night but...

Whatever. It doesn't matter. It's only food.

"Santana..." she asks softly. Santana stirs slowly from her slumber and looks at her softly. Rachel smiles and pushes Santana's hair from her face without thinking. "I'm sorry to wake you but I'm heading to the grocery store and I was wondering if you wanted anything..." Santana shakes her head. "Nothing?" She shakes her head again, snuggling into the pillow. "I have my cell if you change your mind, okay?"

She nods and Rachel jumps when she rolls over a little and reaches for the nightstand. Rachel notices the gold band on her ring finger but doesn't say anything, just waits as Santana rifles around in the drawer before pulling out a large wad of twenty dollar bills as well as some loose ones with it.

"Here," she says softly and rolls onto her back, still dressed in her overalls over her sleepwear.

Rachel's hand falls comfortingly to her thigh as she rests the money tiredly on her stomach. Her eyes focus and unfocus and Rachel reaches for the glasses on the nightstand, slipping them quickly onto Santana's nose. She nods in thanks. She looks more exhausted than before. It can't help that people have still been knocking on the door to pay their respects all morning. Her hands move slowly and lazily as she looks at the money in her hands, smoothing out crumpled up old bills.

"Take this," she says and then gives up, taking the rubber band of the wad of twenties and halving it. "Take this and get whatever you need." Rachel makes to protest. There's way too much money there. "No... no... take it. And, um, use whatever's left to like... get everyone something to wear." She looks away for a second. "To the funeral," she says. "I want... I want you guys there."

Rachel softens and nods, too touched to argue. "Okay," she says softly and then reaches to lift Santana's glasses off her face as she turns onto her other side and snuggles back into the pillow.

/

She's pulling out of the driveway in Blaine's Prius when the door starts opening. Rachel squeals and slams on the breaks quickly, realizing that's the last thing she should have done when Sam jumps in and grins at her.

"Thought you might need a hand," he says as he pulls on his seat belt.

Rachel looks straight ahead. "I'm fine, thank you," she says awkwardly. "So you can go back inside."

Sam chuckles and shakes his head. "Not happening," he says softly.

It's ridiculous how quickly Rachel relents.

/

It unnerves her how quiet he is. He just lets her drive in silence and wordlessly goes and gets her a cart to put the groceries in, brushing her off and gesturing for her to lead the way when she waits for him to let her push it.

He follows behind her and doesn't put anything in the cart like Finn tried to last week. He just helps her when she needs it or when she's not too proud to ask him to get her something from the top shelf.

He helps the clerk to pack everything into bags and loads them back into the cart without argument like Finn had. He asks for the keys to the car and she hands them over when he explains that he's gonna go load up. She tries not to smile when the female clerk tells her that she's "got a keeper" and hands over her cash without a word.

He's sitting in the driver's seat when she gets to the car and doesn't argue, just slips into the passenger seat beside him and buckles herself in. He smiles at her and asks her if she's ready to go, backing out of the space slowly as he can while she folds the receipt until it's small enough to fit in her purse.

Everything's fine, until he pulls into a little parking lot halfway back to the house and puts the car in park. That's when her heart starts to pound like a jackhammer and she curses herself for ever thinking that this was a good idea.

"You've been avoiding me," he says softly. She doesn't look at him or say anything. She doesn't want to lie. He laughs awkwardly. "I'm sorry if I upset you yesterday. I didn't mean to."

It's sudden how she realizes that she doesn't want to lie to hurt his feelings. She doesn't want to lie because she knows she'll end up admitting something she doesn't want to. At least not right now.

"Rachel..." he says gently.

She panics at how it makes her spine shiver.

"I had sex with Finn last night," she spits out quickly and winces at her words.

It confuses her when Sam doesn't say anything to that, just laughs. She looks at him incredulously. She feels like that should hurt his feelings.

"Is that supposed to scare me away?" he asks softly. He quirks his head to the side and Rachel thinks he looks like an incredibly adorable puppy. "Because it doesn't."

The words make speechless. More speechless. She's pretty sure her eyebrows are starting to disappear into her hairline and her jaw drops a little as he grins at her. It should make her panic when Sam unfastens his seat belt before unfastening her own, but all it does is leave her with butterflies.

When he pecks her just once on the cheek, then again on the mouth, she sighs out dreamily before melting into the hands that he's wrapping around her cheek and burying into her hair. He does it again and smirks when she melts just that little bit more, like a marshmallow on the fire, gooey and sweet.

"I think I'm going crazy," she comments softly. She wonders why she isn't pushing him away.

Sam smiles and pecks her lips again. Each one feels sweeter and she starts craving it, more and more. He looks down when her hand wraps in a handful of his shirt and pulls him closer.

"It's okay," he says as he leans in and hovers close enough to tease. "Your craziness is cute."

* * *

><p><em>Quinn<em>

"Quinn?"

She jolts out of the sleep she didn't know she was in and smile when she comes face to face with Libby. She frowns because she hadn't even realized she was here.

"Hey..." she looks around. She's on her bed, thankfully. "Did you just get here?" she asks.

Libby shakes her head. "I've been here about an hour but I've got to go back because Frank's having a crisis with the arrangements." Quinn nods. "I was just wondering if you'd sit with Santana and make sure she gets anything she needs. Your friend Rachel isn't here."

"She went to the grocery store."

Libby nods and strokes an amused hand over Quinn's cheek as she struggles to wake up. "Your pills?" she asks knowingly. Quinn nods. She hates them. "You'll get used to them," she says softly.

Quinn hopes so.

/

Santana's laying on her bed when Quinn gets to her room, cup of coffee in hand and book under her arm. She kind of expected her to still be asleep but she's just sitting there quietly, staring at the ceiling and rolling the beads of the rosary between her fingers.

"Are you pr..." she whispers guiltily, instantly beginning to turn around. "I'll leave you alone."

Santana shakes her head. "No, it's okay," she says, voice hoarse with sleep. "I was just playing with it. I'm not..." She sighs. "I think I've done enough praying for today."

Quinn nods and drops into the space beside her once she's put her coffee on the nightstand. "Get any answers yet?"

Santana shakes her head. "Nope. Still lost."

Quinn doesn't say anything after that, just lays silently beside her with her book on her chest. Santana glances sideways at her.

"You don't have to sit with me, you know?" she says a second later. "I know Libby asked you to."

Quinn shakes her head. "I don't mind it," she says. "Keeps me away from Artie."

Santana smirks at that. "Tell him you love him yet?"

The words should catch her off guard but, coming from Santana, they really don't.

She nods, just to ease the pressure that's settled itself in her chest since she spoke to him.

"And?"

She shakes her head after a second and doesn't stop Santana when she takes her hand.

"Bummer," she says and squeezes Quinn's fingers. "He'll come around."

Quinn doesn't think before she responds.

"Same goes to you," she snaps and it's a little bitter, a little angry, almost a reflex. It's a kick that would be fine if Santana wasn't already winded, bruised and aching. She back tracks a little once she's said it. "I just mean..."

"I don't want to talk about her, Quinn."

Her voice is so small it scares Quinn more than normal. She gulps.

"She could be sitting at home right now crying about how big a mistake she made leaving, but you won't know because you haven't called her..." She goes on despite Santana's request. "You could end up staying here and leaving her behind and what are you going to do then, huh? What happens then?"

Santana's face flickers with something. She swallows against a dry throat. "She isn't," she whispers. "But nice try."

Quinn's heart starts to beat faster. She's sure it's these stupid damn pills.

"You have to come home," she begs softly.

Santana laughs. It's bitter and filled with pain. "I don't have a home," she reminds her.

Quinn winces. She wants to cry but she doesn't know why. "Santana..." she tries. "Santana, there's—there's got to be something else... there's got to be..."

Santana shakes her head. "There isn't."

"There _has _to be!"

Santana scoffs and sits up suddenly. "Well, there isn't. So either stop talking about it or leave me alone."

Quinn leaves her alone.

She figures she's probably going to be forced to eventually.

Why not start now?

/

Frank's sitting at one of the tables outside the bar when she finds him, the table in front of him covered in papers and empty coffee cups.

She sits down wordlessly in one of the chairs and speaks before he can ask. "Rachel came back," she says. "She's sitting with her."

He nods. "Libby, too," he says and Quinn knows he's talking about a different her.

Quinn swallows hard and lets him look at her curiously.

"Did you find Santana's parents yet?" she asks around the tightness of her throat. She won't cry. She won't. She told herself she was going to get better by and for herself. She can't give up trying already.

She just thought she'd have Santana there to kick her ass if she started to give up.

Frank sighs heavily, pulling a pair of thick-rimmed glasses off his nose and throwing them onto the table.

"I know a guy at the airport. I spoke to him a couple hours ago and he said that he saw Lou and Marie waiting for a plane in the early hours of yesterday morning." Quinn buckles a little under the disappointment. "Wherever they are, it's not here."

She tries to understand that, how Santana's parents just upped and left, but it's hard. Instead she swallows again and takes a deep breath.

"Santana says that she's not going back to Lima," she says in a whisper. She looks down at the table and sees how many of the documents in front of him have Santana's name or her grandmother's or information on legal guardianship of teenagers on them. It says enough. "Is that what's going to happen now?" she asks.

Frank reaches for her and takes her hand with a click of his tongue. They're large and comforting in the way that she needs.

"I don't want it to," he says quietly. "But it looks like it might have to."

* * *

><p><em>Artie<em>

He's sat on the front porch reading when he catches her trying to sneak out. She's too busy thumbing through her keys to notice him and pulling up the hood on her jacket to protect herself from the rain, but he watches her until he realizes that she's getting into the car.

"Where are you going?" he calls.

She jumps and that tells him enough. She turns around softly and watches as he takes off his break and wheels himself to the end of the porch until he gets to the disabled ramp at the other end. Her face says nothing and everything at once and she shrugs as she toys with the keys in her hands.

She shrugs. "I just need to get out of here," she whispers. "I just need to get out of this house and this damn town and go somewhere else for a while."

Artie takes a deep breath. He could use that too. It's hard to think about the right thing to say to Quinn when everyone's still on top of each other, getting in each other's way.

"Can I come with?" he asks without thinking. He chastises himself quickly when he reminds himself he's got to stop barging his way into things. He's ready to tell Santana to forget it when she nods softly and moves around the car to open the door for him.

/

"Feeling coddled?" he asks when they're twenty minutes away.

He tries to sound lighthearted but Santana's face falls at the words, her head nodding gently as she steers with one hand, the other holding the beads she has resting in her lap. It makes his face fall and he turns to look at her, admiring how small and strong she looks at the same time. The pain and struggle is written across her face but she harbors it better than anyone else he can think of. She looks so determined and he feels his respect for her grow more than he thought it could.

It's taken him a while, but he's really starting to see how admirable Santana is.

"They—they think I'm going to do something stupid, don't they?" she asks softly, her jaw trembling for a split second before she bites it back. She glances at him and tries to smile. "I'm not," she promises. "I don't see the point. This is killing me enough, alr..."

_...already_, he finishes in his head for her as she blinks back her tears.

"That's why you're here, too, right?" she asks softly. "To keep an eye on me. You don't need to. I promise. I'm not—"

"I know," he says with a nod.

"I don't need anybody," she whispers as she drives further and further away. Artie wonders how much she really believes that.

"Just because you don't want anybody," he says. "doesn't mean they don't want to be there anyway. People are allowed to be worried about you. Sometimes it isn't about them caring. When bad things happen, sometimes people just want to be there so they can feel like they're doing something. When they can't fix it, sometimes—sometimes they compensate for it in different ways."

Santana doesn't seem to have an answer for that. She just glances at him again before nodding gently and turning another corner.

She drives for a little longer and then pulls into a parking lot by the beach. The sea looks huge and angry in front of him and Artie just sits there in silence as Santana settles her chair back a little until she can pull her legs up to her chest, then reaches behind her to pull a rainbow covered blanket off the back seat.

He watches her contently as she settles herself in and rests her head on the window, looking out at the ocean. He figures it must be freeing, seeing so much space in front of her. She looks like she's breathing easier already.

"Do you want to talk?" he asks softly. "Or we can just sit here? Tell me what to do."

She shrugs. "Do whatever you want," she says quietly.

"I want to talk to you," he says and he's not sure why he wants it so much. Maybe he just wants to understand her better. And maybe he's taking advantage of the fact that she's vulnerable to do that. He doesn't think she'll mind.

She nods. "Okay," she says. "As long as you don't ask me how I'm feeling or about my parents or my abuela or..." she shakes her head. "Just don't."

"Okay," he smiles. "Can I ask about Brittany?"

She shifts and her jaw trembles again. "Why?"

He shrugs. "I don't know," he comments thoughtfully and he looks at her. "I just have a theory that the only time I'll ever see you properly is when you're talking about her and I think I want to test it."

Santana repositions her head, snuggling more into the arm she has her head pillowed on, and pulls the blanket over her some more. Artie reaches out when it doesn't cover her properly, tugging it back over her Converse covered foot.

"Okay," she whispers. "What do you want to know?"

He takes a moment to think but the question's already there. It's occurred to him more and more over the past few days, as he looks back over everything, but right now it seems too big to ask, even if it's the only thing he wants to know.

"Why aren't you together?" he asks softly.

He's surprised when Santana actually chuckles at that. Her face falls just as quickly. "Lots of reasons."

"So, start at the beginning."

She shakes her head. "I don't have enough time."

"Okay," he laughs a little. "Then I'll ask you something and you tell me if I'm right." She nods reluctantly. "Okay... you're in love with her?"

The way Santana's face falls into a hopeless tiny smile makes his heart hurt. She nods.

"You've loved her for a really, really long time," he goes on.

She nods again. "Since I was five."

"You were _five_," he asks in disbelief. She laughs shyly at that before giving him an affirmative nod. "Wow. Is that why you kept telling me she was yours first?"

That makes her turn away, rubbing her face into her arm before turning back and nodding. He sees a tear escape her eye and she wipes it away before she thinks he can notice it.

"And she loves you back?" he asks tentatively. "The same way you love her?"

Santana's eyes squeeze shut and he regrets the question instantly. Her head turns to bury her face into her arm again and he watches as her jaw trembles again, as another few sporadic tears fall down her cheek. Her head begins to shake and an instant sadness washes over him in a way he never expected it to. He narrows his eyes and watches as she tries to compose herself, her hand scrunching in the blanket.

"I don't know," she breathes hopelessly. "I don't know. I don't think... I don't think... No," she breathes. "I don't think so."

It overwhelms him how much he wants to hold her. There's only one person he thinks he's ever wanted to hold more and the mere thought of her makes his heart feel confused with the sudden injection of happiness.

"What do you mean?" he asks confused.

She turns to him suddenly, eyes dark and sad. He wants to wipe away her tears but is too scared to.

"She picked you," she breathes and it's like the words and everything they mean are killing her. Her breath falters slightly and she closes her eyes against the pain. "She picked you," she repeats. "She picked you."

The guilt he feels makes no sense. He has no control of it, or what happened, but, in that moment, he wishes he did. He wishes he could go back to all those months ago and just never let Brittany S. Pierce kiss him, even though he knows it would never be enough. It wouldn't fix anything.

"What?" he breathes. "But..." he says. "Brittany broke up with me."

Santana shakes her head. "Before that."

It dawns on him then. "Landslide." Santana nods and he feels ridiculous for not saying something then. "Oh, Santana..."

"She wanted to talk about feelings and so we sang a song and I thought she got it," she chokes off. "I thought she got it but then I told her I loved her. I told her I didn't want anybody else and she just... _she picked you_."

Only one thing occurs to him to ask at that moment. "Then why did she leave?"

Santana shrugs. "Because I couldn't... because I couldn't tell anyone. Because I was scared... Because I don't know... because..."

She shakes her head and trails off, biting her lip a little in confusion. Artie chuckles a little and smiles at her kindly.

"No one cares that you're gay, Santana," he tells her.

She rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you care so much about?"

She keeps shaking her head and it's like she's trying to shake the answers out. She wipes her face and shrugs. "Pouring my heart out and telling her I can't live without her only for her to turn around and still not want to be with me," she breathes and he can already tell it's the first time she's admitted that out loud. "Pouring my heart out and telling everyone that there is _no one _on this earth that can make me as happy as she does only for her to smile at me like... I don't know. I don't know." She sniffs. "Fucking 'sapphic charm'," she whispers. "Fucking song..." She snaps her head to him. "If I tell her... if I tell her the whole truth—everything... I don't want her to laugh at me."

Artie clicks his tongue. "Britt would never laugh at you."

"But I might scare her away," she struggles and the tears start falling again. "God, Artie..." she breathes. "Don't you get it? I want to give her everything. I want _everything_ with her. My whole life has been building up to a future I'll get to spend with her and I've not haven't even done it on purpose. My brain just decided all these things that it wants to happen without even thinking about it."

He listens quietly as she finds her voice, looks at her as she opens herself up to him.

"We met in kindergarten," she says, softly. "And it was instinctive. I had no control over it. Some snot-nosed kid took the yellow crayon off her and told her she wasn't using it right and the minute I saw her sad little face I knew that I'd do anything to make her happy. _Anything._ I kicked so many kids' asses in elementary school I'm not even sure how they let me stay." Artie chuckles at that. "I got older and I just... I started making plans, started thinking about all these things that would make sure I got to spend the _rest of my life_ with her and then one day it was like my entire world crumbled down onto me when I realized that I couldn't spend the rest of my life with her. I'd lose everything. I'd lose _everything_. I was fucking fifteen years old and I was in love with my best friend and I realized I could lose everything if I loved her. And then what if I lost her, too? I remember feeling so stupid for having a freaking college fund for both of us made up of half of my allowance every month and a freaking Ikea fund of quarters..." She breathes out in disbelief. "My dad asked me if I wanted a freaking Mustang and instead I picked this piece of shit Chevy because it was the only thing I could find that had enough room to take both of our stuff to college."

She gasps out a laugh that doesn't sound amused at all. "I want everything with her... but I don't even know if she loves me the same," she shrugs. "And the fucked up thing is that I've been so scared to ask in case I ended up losing her or my parents that now I've lost everything—fucking everything— I realize I don't even give a shit. I just want her. And it's too late."

/

The sun goes down and the sky turns dark. It looks like there's a million stars in the sky and Artie looks up at them peacefully as Santana sits quietly next to him. She hasn't said anything since she spoke about Brittany.

He's spent the time just as quiet, trying to figure out the right thing to say but nothing quite seems to want to fit properly.

"I just want to fall asleep with her..." Santana mumbles all of a sudden and he snaps around to look at her, not sure if she spoke at all.

All he finds in her eyes is a quiet need for reassurance and, at that moment, he thinks he has it.

He tugs on her hand, pulling until she clambers over the console, and shifts his body until there's enough room for her to sit with him. She doesn't question his actions, just lets him pull her around until they're both comfortable, until Artie can tug the blanket until it covers over both of them. When he puts his arm around her, she has no choice but to snuggle into him, to bury her head into his chest and fall into the comfort of his body.

It's then that the words come easy.

"She's yours," he whispers against the top of her head. "Don't you see? She's all yours. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, she's yours and yours only."

Santana shudders and chokes back a sob. "How do you know?" she whispers.

Artie smirks against her hair. "Because she would have never have left if she wasn't," he says. "Staying wouldn't have hurt so much, unless she didn't care. Unless she couldn't stand it."

When she sighs softly, Artie guesses he must have said the right thing. He's proven right when Santana falls asleep a few moments later, breaths in time with the push and pull of the ocean.

/

They get home at five am and Rachel sends Santana to bed without a word. Instead, she yells at him for fifteen minutes about the importance of telling each other where they are before he explains that his phone died before he had the chance to text her and Santana didn't take hers at all.

She storms away muttering about how she's angry at him but he ignores her in favor of wandering into the living room so he can lay down for a while before everyone else wakes up.

He guesses he should really put his phone on charge first and read the neurotic texts and voice mail messages before he falls asleep so he can forget about them.

Just as he thought, there's fifteen of them. He deletes them without even listening to them and starts on the text messages, purging them from his inbox without a second thought. The only thing he really pays attention to is his email. He reads the daily one from his mother but then stops at a name he's not used to reading in his inbox.

At least not recently.

He opens it and breathes in nervously at what he reads.

_From: Brittany S. Pierce []_

_To: Artie Abrams []_

_Subject: For Santana_

_Attached: 4santana_

_Please show this to Santana. _

_Don't let anyone else see it. _

He reads it ten times, just to be sure.

Then he finally breathes out.

* * *

><p><em>Rachel<em>

She calls them all downstairs for a late breakfast and gives them a wide grin when they notice that she hasn't made any food.

"What the hell is this?" Mercedes asks, patting her hands over the wood of the table, still dressed in her pajamas with her hair wrapped in her scarf. "Is it invisible breakfast?"

Rachel claps her hands together nervously excited. "No," she says brightly. "Breakfast comes after. First, we're going to participate in a group honesty session."

She does a little wiggle that appears to amuse no one other than Sam. He leans against the counter and she tries her hardest not to grin back at him.

"Why?" Finn asks.

Rachel shrugs. "I think it'd be good for us all to clear the air."

Kurt narrows his eyes at her from where he sits in Blaine's lap. Blaine looks bored and hungry. "Then why isn't Quinn here? Or Artie?"

Rachel falters. "She doesn't need to clear the air. That's what she's getting a therapist for. Artie is sleeping."

Tina narrows her eyes at her in disbelief. "And Santana?" she asks.

Rachel shoots her a protective, warning look. "She has better things to be worried about than us."

Finn groans and his shoulders slump. "Let's just get this over with," he says reluctantly. "I don't care. I'm hungry and I just want breakfast."

One by one, everyone slowly sits down on their chairs. Everyone except Sam. There aren't enough chairs for him, or for Rachel. Or for Finn.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

She turns to Sam with a smile. "If I were you," she says slyly. "I would probably be close to an exit."

Sam's face narrows but then he smiles in understanding. He steps back a few paces until he can stand in the threshold of the back door. She gives him another smile when he's there but stops when Finn taps her on the shoulder.

"Can we get on with this?" he asks.

Rachel claps her hands together and gives a polite nod. "Of course," she says. "I'll start." She turns to him carefully. "Finn, I am no longer in love with you. Giving you my virginity was the worst and possibly most humiliating decision of my life and I only did it because you blackmailed me into it and because I felt guilty about my growing crush on Sam." She gives Mercedes a glance then. "Sorry," she says and ignores the perplexed looks on everyone's face. "And for the sake of honesty, I feel that I should tell you that Sam and I spent an hour making out in the backseat of Blaine's Prius yesterday and I let him get to second base." She nods. "There. Doesn't everyone feel better?"

It's like watching a Bruce Banner grow into a slightly disappointing, more red than green, constipated Hulk. Finn's face contorts with anger and confusion until, a few moments later, he finally understands what's going on and turns angrily to look at Sam.

Rachel takes a step back. "Run, Sam!" she hisses. "Run."

It really probably doesn't help that Sam snorts with laughter as he steps away, or that everyone else is sniggering a little when Finn finally looks at them.

Rachel shrugs her shoulders as he advances on her a little. "Sorry," she says again.

And as he starts screaming at her and accusing her, Rachel finds that she really doesn't care about Finn Hudson being mad at her.

He's not the boy she thought he was.

* * *

><p><em>Quinn<em>

Artie's at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her. She breathes out nervously because she really isn't ready for this. She hasn't even had a cup of coffee.

"Artie..." she mumbles. "Can we... can we do this later?"

Artie shakes his head and tugs on her hand. "No," he says and then he's pulling on her hand and leading her across the entryway to the study. She follows without choice and stumbles to a halt when he breaks and turns abruptly.

She shakes her head at him with a disgruntled sigh. She's not ready for this. She didn't want this for a while yet. She knows she told Rachel that she couldn't wait yesterday but, really, she _needs_ to wait for this conversation for the sake of her ever-waning sanity.

"Artie..." she tries again. "I can't—"

"When I got back this morning from being out with Santana, I put my phone on charge and got this email..."

He shoves his phone at her and she takes it from him with a confused and bewildered shake of her head before turning it in her hands to look at it. Her face drops as she reads the words on the screen. It fuels the spark of hope inside of her and she looks up at him nervously.

"Have you..."

He shakes his head..

She nods at that, somewhat relieved and somewhat disappointed. "Are you going to?"

He gulps and then he looks at her and there's something in his eyes that Quinn can't determine. She's never seen it before but it's bright and clear and terrifying.

"I was waiting to talk to you first," he says softly. "I thought that we should decide together."

She nods and then perches herself on the edge of the desk. "Okay..." she says. "Okay, what do you want to do?"

Artie takes his phone back from her and looks at the email. "You go first."

Quinn takes a moment to clear her head. She looks up and away from Artie, not needing the distraction of his expression. It takes her a couple of minutes but then she nods with her decision.

"I think we should watch it first and then show her..." she says. "Then we can be prepared."

Artie straightens his back.

"I disagree."

She tilts her head. "You do?" she says uncertainly. Artie nods. "Then what do you think we should do?"

He gulps again and looks at the phone. "I think we should stop interfering," he shrugs. "I think that we should just do as we're told and tell Santana about the video and let her decide if she wants to watch it. We should give her the video and if she wants to watch it then she can. If it's good, it's good. If it's bad, it was her choice and there's nothing we can do about it."

Quinn's shoulders slump with understanding. She nods and takes a deep breath. She gets it.

"We should just... not forget that this isn't our decision, Quinn," he whispers and she nods in agreement, knowing he's right. "This is theirs and we can't meddle with it. We could just end up making everything worse and what we should really be doing is concentrating on our own stuff, don't you think?"

Her stomach flips a little and she looks at the floor before nodding. "Yeah," she whispers. "Yeah, I understand."

Artie narrows his eyes. "So you agree?" he pauses. "We give Santana the video and let her decide if she wants to watch it or not."

"Yeah," Quinn nods and her stomach bubbles with nerves and excitement. Everything feels like it's changing again. "I agree."

* * *

><p><em>Artie<em>

He casts a sideways glance at Quinn when they exit the study to a cacophony of sound that assaults their ears. She looks across and over to the kitchen before turning and giving him an incredulous glance that he can't help but smile at.

"Rachel broke up with Finn," he whispers softly. "I wasn't there but it was hilarious. I could hear it from the living room."

He's glad when she laughs a little at that but still gives a disappointed shake of her head. "They're idiots."

Artie snorts in agreement. His smile gets bigger. "Yeah," he chuckles. "But at least they're _our _idiots."

She shakes her head but she's still smiling. He can't help but notice how happy he is to see it.

"I wish they weren't," Quinn mumbles. Artie laughs a little harder.

"Same," he says. "But what are you gonna do? Can't pick your family."

The words catch both of them off guard and she looks at him softly before smiling directly at him. It makes his heart flip over in his chest and he has to remind himself that this isn't about the stuff between them right now—even though it's important, it can wait—this is about more important things.

It's just hard to remember with Quinn looking at him like _that_.

"There are a lot of things you can't pick," she whispers with a definite nod. He knows what things she's talking about straight away and he takes a quiet but deep breath in to steady himself. He's never been happier to be sitting down and is glad when Quinn snaps out of whatever trance she was in looking at him to force a smile. "You wanna take the lead?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "No way," he says, gesturing for her to go ahead. "You do what you gotta do."

/

What Quinn has to do turns out to be one of the weirdly hottest things he's ever seen. He sits in the doorway so no one can escape, glad that Rachel's blocking the other one as Sam peeks in from over her shoulder, and watches as Quinn wanders in and bangs her fist down on the table.

"Whatever the hell it is you're all arguing about," she says sternly. "You better shut your damn mouths and grow up quickly. There's more important things than whatever fucking love triangles y'all are in right now, or who stole whose virginity, or whether Finn's pregnant or if it's just a food baby."

They all look confused. Artie's just really, _really_ amused.

"Artie got an email from Britt," she says, moving out the way so that everyone can see him. He hands her his phone without arguing and smiles when their fingers brush. She smiles at him and then puts the phone, with the open email, down on the middle of the table. They all look at it like it's a bomb.

Finn, Sam and Rachel seem to set aside their differences for a moment and wander over to look to.

"It's got a video attached," Blaine comments idly.

Finn turns the phone around so that he can see the screen better.

"We should watch it," he says and then his finger is stretching out to click on the still unopened attachment. Tina gasps and claps her hands together like an excited child. Artie scoffs at her and is glad when Sam snatches the phone from beneath Finn's hand, even if he does follow it up with a not-so-friendly shove to the shoulder.

"God, dude, it's not your phone, so don't touch it!" he says childishly.

Finn shoves him back, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah, well my girlfriend wasn't yours and you touched that!"

"HER!" Sam screams. "_Her_. She's not a freaking possession—"

"ENOUGH!" Quinn hollers, taking the phone from Sam and putting it back on the table. "God, fucking grow up."

"I wonder if it's porn," Puck wonders out loud as he pushes the phone around to face him. He turns to Artie suddenly. "Dude, do you have _Angry Birds_ on this?"

Artie just glances at Quinn in time for her to roll her eyes and snatch it away from all of them. She quietly hands it back to him.

"Is that all you guys care about?" she asks exasperatedly. "Yourselves? Still? Still you can't get out of your own little heads long enough to realize that your problems are nothing compared to what other people are going through right now. You don't realize that Santana—the girl who has been _nothing_ but kind and generous to all of you for the past five weeks—has lost her grandmother, her parents, her home, her entire fucking life and Brittany in the past ten days?" She waves them off. "No, no. No more. Time to get off your asses and actually act like you give a shit."

"Preach," Rachel says and Artie glares at her until she shrinks back into Sam. "What? I've always wanted to say that and I've been trying to get everyone to do what she's saying for a week now."

"It doesn't matter," Quinn says. "From now on, we call a clean slate and we forgive each other." She groans. "I've had enough of us fighting with each other and bitching and complaining. We're a _team_," she says. "We're a family and we shouldn't be letting each other down so much. Santana is laying alone upstairs and I spoke to Frank and she's almost definitely not coming back to Lima with us."

Quinn says and Artie watches her with pride as all their faces fall with shock and disappointment.

Rachel drops down into an empty chair and looks up at her sadly. "Really?"

Quinn nods and Artie wheels closer when he sees her falter a little. "Yeah," she says. "Her parents are gone and he says unless something happens then she'll have to stay here. He's her next available guardian."

"Wait," Puck says then. "Lopez isn't coming home with us? She won't—she won't be a part of Glee club anymore?"

Quinn shakes her head and Artie can tell how relieved she looks that they appear so disappointed at the thought of it.

"But—but..." Sam starts and he rubs Rachel's back as she looks on the verge of tears. "What about Brittany?"

Quinn shrugs her shoulders. "That's why this video is so important," she explains softly.

"And is that why we're gonna watch it?" Tina asks hopefully.

Quinn laughs mirthlessly and Artie watches as she bends to put both hands on the table, closes her eyes tight and shakes her head, biting her lip to keep the words at bay.

"No," he says softly as he steps up behind her. He presses a hand to the the base of her back and scratches his fingers there to comfort her. "We're not watching it," he says. "It's Santana's and it's her choice. We just need a little help."

/

They make a plan.

They spread everyone out doing separate things, sending them in all different directions to do get everything done. Artie sits in the kitchen with Quinn, Rachel and Sam, a scribbled list on a note pad sat in front of them, waiting for each item to get checked off.

Everything has to be perfect, just for Santana.

After a while Artie heads upstairs with Sam to get everything ready in the upstairs living room, leaving Quinn downstairs with Rachel baking cookies and figuring out a plan for the funeral in the morning. He makes Sam sneak into Santana's room while she's sleeping and steals her laptop.

Sam asks how he knows the password but Artie just shakes his head and doesn't tell him how he watched her type it in a few times before and it's not exactly hard to guess it. It's obvious really. It's almost as obvious as the picture of Brittany kissing Santana's cheek that she has for her wallpaper, their fingers tangled together as Santana tries and fails to look reluctant.

He doesn't know how none of them figured it out sooner.

"Done?" Sam asks once the email is open and everything's ready to go. Artie nods and they both look up as everyone slowly climbs the stairs.

They go out onto the hallways to meet them and Quinn gives him a look that asks if everything's ready. He nods and she steps over to stand close to him, Rachel stepping past them with a plate of cookies and a glass of chocolate milk that she puts on the coffee table near the computer.

_Everything's ready,_ he thinks as everyone assures them that they've done their job and Kurt starts rifling through the half a dozen plastic-covered black suits clutched in his hands. He hands them out to their owner according to the name on the post-it stuck on the front of them.

He looks nervous. "Hang them up. Don't let them get creased," he says and Artie's glad when Quinn takes his for him and hooks it over a nearby light fitting attached to the wall. Kurt then hands out separate bags for each of the girls and then hands two to Quinn. "For Santana," he says softly. Quinn nods.

He reaches for Quinn's hand when everyone's just standing there waiting for them to speak. He squeezes her fingers tightly, glad when she squeezes back.

"Everybody ready?" he asks.

They all look around at each other before nodding.

"Then you best go get her, Quinn," he says softly.

Quinn breathes out unsteadily but steps towards the staircase.

/

Santana stalls when she sees them all standing there in the hallway. Her eyes go wide and then they narrow and Artie smiles warmly when they instantly look from Quinn to him and back again.

"Is this an intervention or something?" she asks softly. "Because whatever it is you want me to stop doing, I'll stop as long as you all stop looking at me like that. I just want to go back to bed."

Artie turns to Rachel as she steps forward a little.

"This isn't an intervention, Santana," she says softly. "This is—this is... Quinn told us about how you might not be coming home with us."

Santana sighs. "And what?" she shrugs breathlessly. "You're here to sing me a song to convince me to change my mind?"

"No," Sam says, stepping up behind her. "Not at all."

Rachel smiles at him. "We're here to tell you that even though you might think there aren't, no matter what you choose, there will be eleven people who love you missing you."

Santana shifts on the spot and she glances at Quinn nervously.

"Are you leaving now or something?" she asks softly. She suddenly looks terrified as she looks down at her feet.

Quinn wraps an arm around her, sensing it immediately. "No, no sweetie, not yet," she whispers.

Santana looks up and there are tears in her eyes. Artie regrets agreeing to this ridiculous set up all of a sudden when he realizes this might be too overwhelming for Santana right now. He decides to go for honesty instead.

"Britt sent me an email," he tells her, moving closer. He pulls it up on his phone. "It's a video for you to watch."

Santana looks at the phone like it's a bomb and shakes her head. "I can't..." she says instantly, trying to step back. Quinn holds her tighter. "Quinn..." she pleads. "I can't..."

"You can," she says softly. "You just don't want to—"

"And we get that," Rachel interjects.

"Right," Quinn nods. "We get that. You're scared and you're terrified that any words she says to you from now on are just gonna verify the thing you've got yourself so set on: that you've _lost _her and you're never getting her back."

Rachel reaches out and squeezes Santana's hand. "But we just want you to know that we're here, okay?"

Quinn nods. Artie moves closer. He shakes his head and takes Santana's hand from Rachel's grip, tugs her down until she's settled in his lap. He cuddles her close and shifts his head until he can whisper into her ear.

"Remember what I said," he breathes. "And think about it... Why would she be sending you a video if she didn't care?" Santana chokes on a breath. "She's Britt. She's _your _Brittany and you know her. Why would she do anything to hurt you? Even if you've hurt her worse, why would she do anything to make you feel pain?"

Just the words make Santana relax against him. He pulls her closer until she's fitted against him, her face buried in his neck, and presses a hand to the back of her head. When he glances up, he finds Quinn smiling at him gently. He smiles back but flutters his eyes closed when Santana wraps herself around him just that little bit more. All he knows is that he doesn't want her to let go. He thinks he's found a friend.

"Will you stay with me?" she whispers brokenly into his neck. "You and Quinn?"

His eyes dart up to Quinn and she's already there, kneeling down and running her hands up and down Santana's back soothingly. "Whatever you want," she whispers. "Anything."

/

The others decide to head into Kurt and Blaine's room while Rachel, Quinn and Artie urge Santana into the living room where everything's set up ready for her. Artie climbs onto the couch first and pulls Santana down to snuggle into him. She does, happily, pulling Quinn until it's a Santana sandwich and they're both holding her as tightly as possible.

Rachel grins at them and grabs a blanket from the arm of the couch before unfolding it and tossing it over them. Artie feels a little silly but he doesn't mind. Whatever Santana needs is fine by him and Santana seems to need this. She pulls the blanket close to her and scrunches her left fist into it as she holds Quinn's hand with the other. Her eyes settle on the computer in front of them and Artie gives Rachel a nod before instructing her to open it up.

She stops when the password screen comes up.

"It's Brittany," Santana whispers softly. "The password is Brittany."

Rachel falters but then nods. She types the letters in slowly. Artie holds Santana tighter as the screen lights up to show them the email.

"Hold on," Artie says before Rachel can click on the attachment. He turns to Santana. "You okay?" he asks. She nods frantically, desperately, and Artie gives Rachel another nod before she clicks the link and the video starts to download.

"I'll be outside if you need me," Rachel says stepping away. None of them say anything, they just watch as the video downloads further and further.

Artie's pretty sure all three of them hold their breath when the download completes and opens itself automatically.

They don't know what to expect.

Artie almost laughs when the first thing he hears is the damn Fondue for Two theme tune. Instead he looks nervously over the top of Santana's head to find Quinn looking just as confused. They both look back to the screen when Santana lets out a little gasp and quickly realize why.

There on the screen sits an exhausted looking Brittany, eyes dark and heavy, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, her face not nearly as happy and carefree as Artie's familiar with. She just looks sad, lonely, and Artie pulls Santana closer when she shrinks smaller at the sight of her.

"_Hi..._" Brittany on screen says and her voice sounds higher and thicker than he remembers it being. Her jaw trembles and it makes his heart clench. "_I'm Brittany S. Pierce and this special edition of Fondue For Two is dedicated to you Santana Lopez and you alone as I—as I try my hardest to tell you how sorry—how sorry I am._"

Santana reaches for his hand wordlessly and he lets her take it, pulls her a little closer with the one he already has wrapped around her shoulder. Her eyes never leave the screen, not for a second. She doesn't even blink.

"_I'm sorry_," Brittany says again. "_I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I left you. I'm so sorry I ran away._" She shrugs her shoulders. "_I was scared_." She shakes her head. "_Not because of you, though. Never because of you...you're the only thing that makes me feel safe._" She tries to laugh but it sounds more like a hopeless hiccup. She shakes her head and her eyes never leave the camera, not even when she has to blink away her teary eyes. "_I panicked_," she whispers and shakes her head, swallows on the tears in her throat. "_You didn't tell me you were leaving. I thought I was losing you. I thought you didn't want me anymore._"

Santana shakes her head, refuses the words.

"_And I felt so mad at you for not telling me you were leaving,_" Brittany carries on. "_I was so mad and I had no right to be. I've never had any right to be mad at you. Not when—not when I've pushed you so hard and given you so little_." She shakes her head. "_I asked you—in Orlando—how I made you feel and you told me everything I needed to hear, but I never did the same for you. I never told you all the things you needed to hear, did I?_"

She whimpers. It stings.

"_But that's what I'm going to do now, okay?_" she whispers and her nod is timid, her eyes intent like she can actually see Santana looking back at her. Santana nods. "_It's the least I could do, okay?_"

Santana chokes in another breath to hold. Artie feels the weight shift as Quinn leans into her, resting her forehead against Santana's shoulder. He shifts his hand out of the way and runs it through her hair almost subconsciously.

"_You make me _happy_,_" Brittany splutters out and it's easy to see how hard she's trying not to cry. "_You make me feel proud and beautiful and brave and scared and ashamed but, mostly, you make me happy. Except, right now, because being without you—I feel so sad. I'm so sad without you. So sad._" She shakes her head. "_It's like there are these big parts of me missing..._" she explains. "_These big spaces where nothing else seems to fit and they hurt so bad. So bad._" Her hand presses to her chest, feeling that pain. "_And it hurts even more because I know that they hurt right now because of me, because it's my fault. I know that, if you were here, if I was with you, they wouldn't hurt at all. I wouldn't even notice them because they'd be filled up by you because my empty spaces... that's where you belong._"

Santana shudders and Artie doesn't need to look to know that she's sobbing. He just tightens his grip on her and continues watching the screen with a soft, knowing smile on his face that falls when Brittany's jaw begins to tremble.

"_I just wish you were here to make it go away,_" Brittany whispers woefully. "_You're the only one who can and that scares me... that scares me because I know I've ruined it. I know I have. I know you probably don't want me anymore. I know it._"

The noise Santana makes at that breaks Artie's heart.

He clutches her hand as Brittany tries to compose herself.

"_But I know it's my fault_," she whispers and breathes out to keep herself calm. Her face is full of so much anguish that Artie hates that she's not here more than ever. "_It's my fault. I went away. I went away so it's my fault._"

And as she sits in contemplative silence, Artie doesn't know whether to laugh or yell at the universe.

Instead he holds Santana tighter, wishing Brittany was here, and watches.

* * *

><p><em>Rachel<em>

Rachel sits in the threshold and switches between watching Brittany on screen and the three people huddled together on the couch.

She wishes she was with them.

She wishes she could hold them too.

Instead she sits with her back against one side of the door frame and her toes pressed against the other and figures out what to do.

It takes her about thirty seconds to realize how she doesn't have to worry about things like this anymore. She looks at the three of them huddled on the couch and realizes that they're her friends, they're her friends and, right now, they probably don't mind being held just as much as she wants to hold them.

She shoots a glance across the hall to where the others are all lingering in the doorway of Kurt and Blaine's room, before standing up and stepping over to perch on the arm of the couch. Artie barely glances at her, doesn't question how she puts her arm around his shoulder and sighs when she presses her cheek to the top of his head.

It doesn't even feel strange that the four of them are all just sat there, watching Brittany silently sit by herself on the screen. If anything, it feels like they're giving her company and the patience she deserves.

Rachel's hand finds the top of Santana's head when Brittany's mouth opens, ready to speak.

"_No one has ever believed in me like you_," Brittany whispers softly. Rachel tries not to breathe too loudly. "_No one. Everyone thinks I'm useless apart from you. I wonder if you still feel that way now. I hope you do._" Rachel's fingers stroke soothingly over Santana's hair as she shudders out a breath. "_I just... I just want you to be proud of me because I'm so proud of you._" She shrugs her shoulders and wipes away a stray tear with the back of her hand. "_I know I don't say it enough but I am. I'm so proud of you... and not even for the things you think I would be. I've been proud of you since the moment I met you and you were just this pretty little girl in her dorky glasses scared to be left alone. I asked you to be my friend because you were so scared. I remember how much I didn't like seeing you look so afraid—I still don't like it now—but I was so proud of you when you agreed to come color with me. So proud._"

Brittany whimpers and then her tired blue eyes close as she tries to fight away the tears that are already rolling down her cheeks, lingering on the bow of her lips until she wipes them away.

"_Since the moment I met you,_" she chokes. "_That's all I ever wanted... was for you to take a chance on me. That's all I ever wanted was for you to take a chance on me... to trust me enough to look after you._" Her head shakes as she takes a pause."_I've spent the whole time I've known you waiting for you to take a chance on me, nudging you and never giving you a reason why. I spent almost ten years waiting for you to kiss me and then I just kissed you. I waited months to give myself to you. I waited even more months for you to tell me you loved me and I just never told you why. I never told you why I wanted you to do all those things so badly and spent the whole time wondering why you took so long, why you hurt me instead._" She sniffs. "_You know why? Because I—I didn't want to give away anything that might make you realize that I'm _not_ worth it._" She shakes her head as her voice fails her. "_I'm not. I'm not and there are better, prettier, smarter girls out there for someone like you but I just wanted a chance. I just wanted a chance to prove that I could do my best but I couldn't even see how hard you were trying. I couldn't even see how wonderful you are..._"

Her bottom lip trembles and she's not looking at the camera anymore, almost shy. Rachel sighs as gently as she can, just because she needs to.

"_I think I just had it in my head that I'd have you for a little while_," Brittany continues softly. "_I'd have you for a little while and then I'd... then I'd set you free. I'd let you go._" The words get caught in her throat. "_Because I've remembered every minute I've ever spent with you. Every minute. Just in case. I can remember every feeling, every touch, every everything, ready for when you're not here anymore._" She shakes her head. "_I can remember the first time we made love—because it was _always_ making love, from the very first time, I see that now—but I remember how it felt like I was holding you together, like I was the thing that kept you in one piece, and I liked that. I liked that feeling and I thought it would be nice, to have that feeling for a little while._"

Rachel blinks against the sudden rush of tears in her eyes. She glances at Quinn and finds tears streaming down her cheeks. Santana sobs beneath her, a mess, and Rachel can't remember ever feeling like this. Not ever.

"_I don't think I can do that now_," Brittany shakes her head. "_I thought I'd be fine with you being all my firsts, I just didn't think that I'd end up wanting so badly for you to be all my lasts too and—_God—_I should have picked _you," she gasps. "_I should have picked you_."

It's almost shocking to see Brittany burst into sobs but it's fascinating at the same time. Rachel watches as her face falls gracefully, her mouth turning up adorably before her entire body starts shaking.

Trust it to Brittany to make even the most instinctive actions look like a perfectly executed dance.

* * *

><p><em>Quinn<em>

It's like the sun breaking through after a storm or sleep after a long and painful insomnia. Brittany speaks and Quinn feels everything bad slipping away from the world, oozing from Santana's body as she sobs it out onto the blanket. If it wasn't so important, her voice is so soft that Quinn could almost not care what she's saying. She wishes she could wrap it around Santana like a secondary blanket but she thinks it probably already is.

"_I should have picked you and not picking you was the hardest thing I've ever done_," Brittany explains through her tears. "_The hardest, worst, most awful thing I've ever done but I had to do it. I had to. I couldn't... Artie didn't deserve to be hurt like that and I was still scared. I was still—I was still so sure that you'd figure me out sooner or later._" She shakes her head. Quinn misses her smile. _"And I loved Artie, I loved him, I've loved a lot of people, and I thought that would be enough,_" Brittany whispers_. _"_I just..._" she gives up trying to explain and instead looks down at her hands. Quinn's fingers itch to take them and force them into Santana's.

It kills her that she can't.

"_It's not the same,_" she goes on. "_It's not the same because being without him has never made my heart hurt and I don't want to wake up to him every morning just so I can smile and I don't miss his voice and—and it doesn't make my spine tingle when he calls me 'baby'. And I don't care that you're scared and I don't care that you want to keep us secret. I don't care because I miss you and I'll follow you anywhere. I'll follow you anywhere and I'll wait as long as you want me to because you're Santana,_" she whimpers desperately. "_You're Santana and I can't think of anything I want to do more than—more than just being with you forever... because I know all this hurt... it'll be—it'll be worth every second when I get to call you mine._"

She gasps out a breath and Quinn feels it mirrored by Santana as she curls up smaller and smaller while her eyes grow bigger and bigger. Quinn reaches forward to kiss her on the back of her hand, glad that Artie chooses to kiss her temple at the same moment. Their eyes catch and the disbelief they share goes unspoken as Brittany sobs into her hands.

"_Because I always have and always will be _yours," Brittany informs her. "_No matter where you are or what you choose or if you want me: I will always, always, _always _belong to you. Because you're Santana. You're Santana and you're still the pretty little girl in the dorky glasses that I can't live without because I am head-over-heels... heart thumping in my chest... _stupid_ in love with you._"

A sob erupts from Santana and it sounds like relief, or respite, or happiness. Her hands pulls away from theirs to cover her face and she sobs into them as Brittany wipes away the tears that cover her own cheeks and continues.

"_And loving you is like breathing..._" she shakes her head, her eyes wide. She almost looks shocked. "_I don't know how to stop._"

Santana peers from beneath her hands to look at her on the screen, both of their tears mostly gone as they just stare. Quinn wishes there wasn't a computer screen, time and space between them. She wishes Brittany was here.

"_I _miss_ you, Santana_," Brittany says, finally and there are a few silent, sure moments where she just keeps looking at the camera with tears rolling down her cheeks.

Santana looks up and a shaky breath leaves her.

"I miss you, too," she whispers softly, not caring who hears.

When the video clicks off, it makes Quinn wish she was here more than ever.

/

She feels lighter and heavier at the same time as she wanders into the kitchen a few hours later. Rachel smiles at her from where she does the dishes and looks at her curiously.

"How is she?" she asks.

Quinn breathes out in relief for about the millionth time. "Still watching it," she says.

Rachel nods knowingly. "I don't blame her," she says. "It was beautiful."

"They're beautiful," Quinn corrects her.

Rachel just smiles.

"What do you think will happen?" she asks. Quinn shrugs. "Do you think she'll come back?"

Quinn shrugs again and breathes out. "It's up to her now," she says. "Next move's hers."

Rachel nods in understanding and puts the last dish away.

"Where is everybody?" Quinn asks softly.

Rachel smiles smugly. "I sent everyone to bed," she says. "Early morning tomorrow."

That just fills Quinn with dread. "The funeral," she remembers.

Rachel wipes her hands dry and takes off her apron, hanging them both over the back of a nearby chair. She stands by Quinn before wrapping her in a quick hug.

Quinn welcomes it, squeezing her tight. Rachel Berry's a lot better than she thought she was.

"Breakfast's at six," Rachel tells her as she pulls away and squeezes her elbow as she goes.

/

She checks on Santana, if only to take another look at her goofy awe-filled smile and finds it impossible to roll her eyes at her when she finds her still watching the video on repeat. She just wanders in and tucks the blanket further around her. They don't need to say anything; Quinn just nods at her when Santana looks up at her in disbelief again, and kisses her on the forehead.

It allows Quinn to see her first real smile in days.

Maybe they'll all sleep better tonight.

/

She's ready for bed, hair brushed and face clean, when she reaches under her pillow for her book and can't find it.

Her hands pad around under her pillows for a few minutes but she still can't find it. She tosses them aside and checks down the back of the bed but it's not there. It isn't until she pulls back the covers that she stops.

And that's only because she finds another book, a familiar one, sitting there where she should be sleeping.

She laughs a little and looks up curiously, before flopping down to sit on the edge of the bed and picking it up.

She feels a little guilty that she hasn't read it yet, especially when it's his favorite, but it's really not her kind of story.

She guesses she could try for him.

Maybe she'll like it more than she thought she would.

She laughs out loud.

That seems to happen a lot, when it comes to him.

It only takes her to get to the title page for her to decide that it's the one book she'll treasure for the rest of her life.

Because that's where she finds his scribbled handwriting staring back at her, blue and bright against the black and white page, hidden beneath a folded note.

And of all the words she's ever read, none have ever taken her breath away quite like this.

_Sometimes I wonder if you're nothing but a beautiful dream. _

_Still, _

_I love you more than you'll ever know. _

_Always,_

_AA_

She reads it over and over again as she unfolds the small piece of paper in her hands. Whatever it says, she almost doesn't care. She just reads his words over and over again, desperate for them to be true. They turn out to be more important than she thought they were.

_I pushed Tina away in the lobby and went looking for you. _

_I heard you with Puck and went back to her._

_I'm sorry we're so stupid._

And even though she breathes a deep sigh of relief, she still realizes it doesn't matter. She doesn't care. Not anymore.

* * *

><p><em>Artie<em>

"You wrote in a book."

He jumps and almost falls sideways off the couch until he remembers he has arms and grabs out to steady himself. He smiles at her bashfully until he realizes she's clutching the copy of _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe _he bought her in Miami to her chest. It's the same copy he asked Sam to find and return for him earlier. He didn't seem too worried about it when he found out what it was for.

Quinn takes a deep breath and her hip drops.

"Do you mean it?" she asks softly, breath barely a whisper.

He laughs at that and then shakes his head. "Of course I do," he whispers softly, shifting to sit up until he's leaning back against the arm of the chair. "Why do you think I wrote it in a book? I knew there was no way you'd believe me if I said it out loud, so now it's in the book and you can never forget it."

She's advancing on him a second later, pajama clad legs clambering over him until she's straddling him timidly. Her mouth descends on his a second later and he lets her, his hands reaching to grip at her waist as hers tangle in his hair.

"Say it," she whispers softly against his mouth. "Say it out loud."

He smiles against her lips. "I love you, Quinn Fabray," he whispers.

She sighs and kisses him again, small pecks like she doesn't have the energy for a proper kiss right now, like she's building up enough power to say what she wants to say.

"I love you, too," she breathes.

She kisses him again and it's a little harder, a little more full of purpose and intent. Her hands tangle in his hair and grip at his shoulders. She plucks at the fabric of his shirt and he can feel her need for him as she whimpers. He can feel it radiating off her skin, from her lips and he reaches up to cup her cheeks as he reluctantly eases their mouths away from each other.

"No," he shakes his head reluctantly. "No, we can't..."

The denial makes her cheeks pink more than the kissing and he smiles at it, sweeping his thumbs fondly over the curve of them before cupping her neck.

"Quinn," he says as she tries to pull back away from him. "I don't want it to be like this," he admits because he's been thinking about it a lot. Too much, probably. "I don't want us to be together yet. I want you to get better. You _deserve _to get better without me getting in the way."

She narrows her eyes at him grumpily. It's the most adorable thing ever. He smooths her brow with his thumbs.

"You're gonna get better," he tells her with a chuckle that she almost returns. He's glad that her hands are still clutching at his shirt. "You're gonna get better and then you and me," he waggles his eyebrows at her. "We're gonna be a thing."

She smirks. "A thing?" she asks. "Aren't we already a thing?"

He pulls her down so he can peck at her lips, just because he can't not. "I mean like a sure thing," he says. "I'm in love with you, Quinn Fabray. And I _know_ you're gonna be my third time lucky."

Her hands run over his shoulders and he gulps at the way she looks at him, at the way she bites her lip at him. "I'm already a sure thing," she whispers, leaning in to nudge their noses together and he knows that she's not talking about kissing anymore. "For you, I'm always going to be a sure thing."

He loses his breath a little. "Quinn," he sighs. "How do you know this is what you really want?"

She laughs lowly. It's hotter than he wants it to be, not when he can already feel her warm breath against his cheeks and on his neck. He wants her hands on him but he knows he shouldn't. He should be thinking about her, not himself.

"I _want _you," she admits on a shaky, uncertain breath. "I want you," she repeats carefully. "I want you to make love to me," she admits and she almost sounds surprised at the fact. "We have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow, or the day after, and I want you to make love to me because I know that it will do nothing more than tell me what I already know in my heart which is that you're the man for me. And it's not my heart I'm worried about because it's the only thing that knows what it wants and that's you. Only you."

And when she leans in to kiss him, sure and certain and completely unlike how anyone's ever kissed him before, he finds that he can't argue with her.

And he's pretty sure that, for her, he'd do anything.

/

They kiss for what feels like forever, like time stops and it's just them. Her hands tangle in his hair and she pulls his glasses off without him even realizing.

She's still just that beautiful up close.

Her hands struggle with his shirt and she falters a little at how bold she's being until he urges himself to sit up and helps her. It makes him moan when her hands stroke down his neck and over his chest, around his waist and to his back before she grabs at his hands and guides them to her chest.

He takes his hands away because she deserves better than to be groped and grabbed. Instead he reaches for the bottom of her shirt and pulls it quickly over her head, diving straight for her chest when her skin is revealed. She buckles a little and he wonders if anyone's ever paid this much attention before, if he's the first person who's kissed her this way.

He purposefully kisses every single inch that he can see, just in case, as he reaches around to her back to find her bra clasp.

He's really glad that he hasn't forgotten how to undo them.

He doesn't even think that she would care. Her hands grip uselessly at his back and his shoulders, tangling in his hair, as he glances up at her and takes a nipple into his mouth.

She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He's pretty sure he tells her as much as his hands wrap around her waist to keep her steady. He just needs her to stay this close, maybe closer, and then there's nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

"Artie..." she gasps and he lets one of his hands drift down to her backside, pressing against it as her hips start rocking into him. He groans and she gasps when the inevitable happens. His cheek falls flat to her chest and she pulls at his hair until he looks up at her. She kisses all over his face until she sucks his tongue into her mouth and moans again. "I need you," she whispers and the words leave her with unfamiliarity. He can tell by the uncertainty in her voice. "I need you right now."

He wastes no time, lifting at her hips until she's got one foot on the floor and a knee beside his hip on the couch. He shuffles out of his pants and then his underwear and she watches him as he pulls reaches over onto the coffee table and pulls out a condom out of his wallet.

He just thought it was better, than making her have to ask.

She just kind of looks at him curiously as he puts the packet on his stomach and reaches for her pajamas pants. He helps her climb out of them, gulps at the sight of her, and brings her other knee back to the couch before lowering her to his thighs. She puts her hands on his shoulders and her cheeks pink further as her legs part.

"I'm gonna touch you," he says. "Is that okay?"

She nods and then gasps when he strokes her, watching her face and her reactions to make sure she's okay. She's soft and warm and her expression reflects that. His hand grips her waist as she rocks into his fingers, eyes fluttering closed at the feel.

It shocks him that she's so ready when she reaches for the condom. She takes it from his stomach, but he doesn't want her to do that for him. She shouldn't have to worry about that. He takes it from her and slips it on quickly, looking up at her nervously when he's done.

"You're sure?" he asks. She looks shocked at the question and nods. He gulps and looks at her again, strokes her again just to be sure before pulling her down into a kiss. Maybe it'll be better this way.

She moans and gasps the minute he's inside of her. He stills, his breath taken from him and watches her instead.

It takes her a minute, but then she pulls back a little, shifting on to him. His eyes roll into his head and he grabs for her waist, his head falling back as she settles herself more comfortably and then, slowly, when she can't not, starts rocking against him.

It feels better than he could have ever imagined and he reaches for her, desperate to feel her skin on his lips. He kisses her neck when she gasps for breath and urges her hips to work faster with a hand on her backside. She seems to like that. It pulls shivers from her that he can feel at his very core and they don't stop, not for long, long moments, until she's gripping harder at him, her hips getting heavy until she shudders a top him and lets out a cry, her eyes growing wide with confusion.

It's almost like she's not sure what just happened.

That makes him gasp when he realizes what he's sure to be true. He reaches for her and kisses her, urges her to keep moving against him, desperate to see her do it again. She doesn't complain, canting against him as he starts to groan at the feel of her warm and soft around him. He can feel his own release growing quicker than it's done before and he brings a hand from her cheek, to her chest, down her stomach until he can work it between her legs.

She moans into his mouth as he pants into hers and he works hard to find her release again before he loses himself inside of her. She's shaking against his chest when he finally does, feeling more perfect than ever.

When Quinn laughs and cries and kisses him, all at once, he doesn't question it.

/

She lays slumped against his chest and he draws lazy patterns over her spine with one hand as the other pulls the blanket up over her to keep her warm.

Soft, lazy kisses litter over his neck and jaw and he smiles a smug and tired smile as she hums against him, sated and calm.

"My pills are like... supposed to wipe out my libido completely once they kick in," she laughs after a while. Her teeth graze over the join of his neck and shoulder when he snorts at that. "It's kind of disappointing to think about after that."

Artie turns his head and kisses her forehead, the bridge of her nose until he can just about reach her lips. "It's okay," he mumbles. "I can wait."

She kisses him with a happy smile. He likes the new feeling of it against his mouth and wishes everyone could feel as happy as him right now until something occurs to him and he pulls back with a narrowed brow. He runs his thumb over her bottom lip and smiles.

"We should call her," he mumbles.

Quinn frowns in response. She looks at him confused and then her face falls in understanding. She looks nervous and excited and worried and scared all at once.

"You said we shouldn't meddle," she says.

He sighs lowly and kisses her.

"That was before I knew that she was there and Santana's here and that Santana's sad and lonely and upset and Brittany's sad and lonely and upset and there was something I could do to stop that," he whispers. Her chin rests against his breast bone. "Also, I was fine with knowing that Santana was going through all this without her when we didn't know if things were going to be okay with them, but now I just feel like something's missing. We need to tell her. We've been stupid not to. She deserves to know, especially if Santana's still not sure if she's coming back. Brittany deserves to know if she's about to lose everything."

Quinn kisses his chest. "I wasn't disagreeing," she says around a laugh. "I'm just reminding you that you said we shouldn't meddle."

He drifts a hand up her back to cup the back of her neck. "Is this an I-told-you-so?"

"No," Quinn says softly. "It's a let's-do-this-thing. I'll call her."

Artie's stomach drops and he shakes his head. "No," he says softly. "No, I will," he shrugs his shoulders. "It's the least I could do."

Quinn nods in understanding.

/

Brittany cries and it's the worst sound in the world. She sobs as he explains about Santana's surgery and her grandmother and her parents and sobs even harder when Artie tells her that Santana might not be coming back to Lima.

Then she gets angry.

"_Why didn't you _tell me?" she demands angrily, her tears still thick and fast over the line. Artie doesn't know what to say. "_Why wouldn't anyone tell me?_" she begs and Quinn clutches at him as he remains in silence with no more words to say to her that would ever be enough. "_Is she okay?_" she asks a few moments later. "_Is—is she safe?_"

Artie nods. "She's safe, Britt."

Brittany sighs in relief. It doesn't sound enough.

"_You make sure you look after her_," she spits, trying to sound angry but just sounding upset. "_You make sure you look after her for me_."

He doesn't know how to explain that he'd look after Santana anyway, even if it wasn't for her.

But doing it for Britt just makes it all the more important.

"What are you going to do, Britt?" he asks softly. "The funeral is tomorrow."

Brittany goes quiet then.

"_I'm grounded, Artie_," she whispers, but then she stops and he can almost hear her shaking her head. "_But I'll figure something out_," she promises. "_I'll figure something out._"

And when she hangs up, all Artie can think, as he gathers Quinn into his arms, is that someone needs to.


	18. Part 13

**This is the last chapter before the epilogue. Thanks for reading. **

* * *

><p>For a minute, she thinks she's dreamed it. She can barely tell when she's asleep and when she's awake anymore so, when a cool hand presses softly to her cheek, her heart sinks, sure that it was all a dream. She's sure that it's nothing but a cruel yet wonderful trick of her imagination, her subconscious reminding her of what she so desperately wants to hear.<p>

She shies away from the hand, nuzzling her cheek further into the pillow, mad at it for taking the dream away. Her nose squishes against the fabric and she breathes out unhappily, almost childishly, until she hears a gentle laugh from above her, new and yet still familiar. A click of a tongue whispers into her ear and she feels her resolve loosening already from the way the hand instantly reaches back to run a thumb over the curve of her cheek.

"Time to wake up, sweetheart," Libby whispers softly. Santana sighs, refusing to do as she's told. She doesn't want to wake up. She doesn't. She just wants to sleep a little more and hope the dream comes back. She's glad that Libby's actions don't match her words because she pulls the covers up around her tighter, until they're snuggled under her chin. "You've got to stop sleeping on couches," she comments. "My word, is that not going to help your back..."

Santana pauses at that. Processes.

Wait.

Couches?

Wasn't she dozing on her bed before the dream started?

Her eyes flutter open and, sure enough, she's on the couch, in the upstairs living room and sat beside Libby on the coffee table is her computer, discarded to the side, forgotten. Her heart instantly yearns for it to be closer, knowing that she'll feel closer to Brittany if it is.

It wasn't a dream.

Her mouth is opening and she's asking, "Can you pass me my computer?" before she can even realize.

Libby just smiles and reaches to pick it up, handing it to her quietly and watching curiously as Santana opens it, just to check. Brittany's face is still on the screen, paused and gentle, and the urge to watch it again is almost too much. She knows that she would be if Libby wasn't sat there, looking at her like that, like she doesn't recognize her again.

"Things are a lot different since my day," she comments idly. Santana looks at her confused. She gestures to the computer carefully. "In my day, if you wanted to profess your love and apologies to someone you had to go to em," she says. "There was no computers."

For some reason, she feels her cheeks go pink and warm. She feels nervous and shy and her throat turns dry as she closes the computer back up. "You watched it?" she asks.

Libby gives her a warm smile. "It was hard not to," she explains with no discomfort or guilt. "It was playing on a loop as I came in and, well... it's very beautiful." Santana dips her head. Libby tilts her head to the side to try and see her face anyway. "That your girl?"

Santana feels the smile twitch at her mouth before she can stop it, feels the butterflies and the relief and the love she'd felt watching it. She feels the reminder that Brittany calls herself _hers_ warming her and protecting her better than any blanket. And then, just as quickly, it all falls away when she realizes that she isn't here, it was just a video, and that she misses her more than ever.

She nods, softly. She feels like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't. Libby must notice because she giggles and reaches forward to pinch one of her cheeks. "Good God, you're pretty much the sweetest thing ever, aren't ya?"

She scoffs and cuddles the computer to her chest. Her cheeks flare with warmth as her stomach tries to negotiate the yearning, the confusion, the conflicted feelings in her chest that come with not knowing what the hell she's supposed to do.

"No," she grumbles indignantly. Libby gives her a look that begs to differ.

She moves around the room, stepping up to the door to the balcony in the corner and throws open the curtains. The sun is bright and slightly overbearing. As soon as it enters the room, she realizes what Libby's wearing as her eyes instantly seek out the darkest thing in the room.

Right. The funeral. She'd forgotten about that.

She feels guilty for a second.

"Have you called her yet?" Libby asks.

Santana's so swept up into funerals and churches and readings and the cotton wrapped around Libby's body that she forgets what they're talking about.

"Huh?"

Libby smiles. "Your girl? Have you called her yet?"

Santana lowers her head. "No, not yet."

"Why not?" Libby asks as she settles herself at the other end of the couch, just like she's done every time they've been in here in the past few days. Santana wordlessly lifts her feet and puts them in her lap. "That girl's in love with ya. What are you doing? Making her sweat it out?"

"No," Santana says instantly. "No, of course not, it's just..." She breathes out. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Libby looks at her like she's dense but tucks the blanket back under her feet anyway. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to find her and tell her you love her too. I mean, that's if that's what you feel..."

"Of course I do."

"So, what's the problem?" Libby asks.

Santana shakes her head. "I think I'm supposed to stay here," she whispers. "I think... I think Abuela wanted me to stay here. I think she wanted me to be able to look after you. I don't know."

Libby stops from where she's rubbing her feet and stares her down. "What makes you say that?"

Santana's stomach drops. She's not sure she meant to say that. She's not sure if her abuela would have wanted Libby knowing that request. "She asked me to," she explains, timidly. "In her letter, I mean... she asked me to look after you."

Something washes over Libby's face. It looks peaceful, calm, like something's settled in her gut that she wasn't sure of. She squeezes Santana's foot a little tighter and Santana swallows uncomfortably. As much as they seem to have clung to each other the last few days, everything still feels new. It still feels awkward sometimes when they have to explain things, when neither of them knows something important that they feel like they should know.

"You don't need to worry about me," Libby says and then pats Santana's ankles for her to lift her feet. "I'll go get you some breakfast."

/

She's about to watch the video again when she notices a familiar box sitting at the end of the couch.

The sudden wave of unwanted memories makes her feel dizzy and she blinks away the shock. She thought it was something she'd never have to see again.

Her blankets feel like lead, so she struggles them off her, the sudden weight of her troubles bearing down on her, being too much to handle. She reaches to pull the box towards her without thinking and she's looking at a handful of photographs of people she doesn't know when Libby returns with a cup of coffee and some toast.

She stops when she sees the look on Santana's face but ignores it, stepping into the room and setting the breakfast down on the coffee table. "I know that you keep saying you're not hungry," she says softly, but Santana barely hears her. "But I think you should eat something today. I know you don't want to because it's not what you're supposed to do, but I think it'd help you. Today is the last day you want your body to be angry at ya."

Santana presses her thumb against the corner of one photo, smoothing it out as it curls over. She doesn't know who any of the people in the picture are except the familiar face of her grandmother.

Libby sighs when she doesn't say anything. "I wanted..." she starts. "I mean, I've heard all her stories. She used to spend hours just telling me damn stories of all the things she did but... I don't know. I'm meant to be giving a eulogy about her damn life and I feel like I don't know anything about it. Not really."

Santana just keeps looking at the photos, searching.

"I just keep looking for something that matches but can't find it, you know?" she says around a mirthless laugh and Santana's glad when there's a knock on the door.

She doesn't look up as Quinn and Kurt step in the room. Her hands are still searching for things she doesn't know the name of. She wants all of her grandmother's memories, the names she knew, the faces she walked past every day, all of it.

"I hope we're not interrupting," Kurt says softly, kindly. Too kindly.

Santana vaguely registers that she hasn't been in a room with him with this many people in a while. He probably feels awkward. She knows she did when his dad was in the hospital and they didn't know if he was going to wake up. Some people just don't know what to say in those situations. Sometimes saying sorry just doesn't quite cut it. It doesn't even really make sense.

"It's just..." Kurt says, stepping closer and resting a hand on her shoulder. He gestures something at her but she doesn't look, engrossed in the images in her hands. "I was shopping for everyone's outfits like you told Rachel to ask me to and I wasn't sure if you needed anything so I got you this dress anyway. Just in case."

She looks up at him and takes the bag. Quinn reaches forward and presses a hand to her head with concern. Santana's sure she looks up at Libby as well to silently ask a question. Santana's too busy reaching through the mass of images to care.

Her fingers brush a familiar box and the words are in her throat before she can question them.

"I have a dress," she whispers. Libby breathes out in relief and Quinn and Kurt don't question her.

/

"What time is it?" she asks softly. She doesn't really want to know.

Libby looks at her watch. Santana sees it in the mirror. She can already feel her nerves bubbling. She's not sure if she can do this. She's not sure she wants to.

"Almost nine," Libby tells her softly from where she sits on the edge of Santana's made bed. She still looks awkward being in here, knowing whose room is used to be, but Santana thinks that she likes it too.

Santana nods. "And what time does it start again?"

"Eleven."

She breathes out. "Isn't that early?"

Libby smiles kindly. "I don't really think there's a set time," she ponders. She gets up slowly and steps towards where Santana sits at the vanity, not really doing anything to get ready but tighten the towel wrapped around her head when it starts to slip. "Would you like me to dry your hair?"

Santana turns to smile at her and nods quietly, handing Libby the hairdryer. Her hands are gentle, probably too gentle as they stroke through her hair, marveling at the natural kinks and curls of it. Santana watches as she wraps some around her fingers then watches it fall before making sure that it's completely dry.

"What next?" she says with a squeeze to Santana's shoulder.

Santana looks down at herself in her robe and guesses she should probably put some clothes on or something. She tries to remember her pappy's funeral and how silent she'd been. Her grandmother had bought her a dress especially for it. She'd said that he'd want Santana to look pretty, not because she was saying goodbye but because everyone would be looking at her. He'd want everyone to be proud of her. Santana doesn't think that's the same now. She doesn't really care what anyone thinks when they look at her but she does want to look pretty when she says goodbye one last time. She wants to honor her grandmother's life and she doesn't think she can do that looking like she deserves to be in the ground more than her. It's a matter of respect. It's a show of strength.

Her eyes snap to the dress hanging up in the corner. It's been dry-cleaned and any imperfections have been fixed. Santana knows that it's probably Libby's doing but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't want to. It feels right for this to be the dress that she wears and as she looks back and catches Libby's eye, it's never felt more right.

"I had a feeling," Libby admits, gesturing her head to the dress. She stands up and walks towards it. "I had a feeling you might want to wear it. I remember her mentioning that it would look pretty on you."

Santana nods. It probably won't ever look as pretty as she wants it to but it'll be okay. She'll try hard, still. She'll try her best. The only person she wants to be proud of her today is her grandmother and that means pulling herself together. Today is about her grandmother.

She gets up with determination, her legs stronger than they've felt in days as she walks over to the dresser and opens it up. She rummages through her underwear and finds what she's looking for, pulling on her panties and awkwardly slipping on her bra as she sheds her robe.

"Are there stockings in that bag Kurt gave me?" she asks softly.

Libby looks back at her before stepping over to the bed and emptying out the contents. "Thigh highs," she says, pulling her face together as she struggles to read the packaging. "Why?"

Santana answers by pulling out her garter belt and tugging it on. When she turns, she finds Libby looking at her incredulously. "What?"

Libby clicks her tongue. "Who comes on their summer vacation to Florida and brings a damn garter belt?" she asks incredulously.

Santana shrugs. She doesn't feel comfortable explaining to Libby that she takes her sexiest underwear with her wherever she goes, just in case, but it's the stockings she usually forgets. It feels weird too.

Instead, she steps up to her and snatches them from her hand. "I don't know," she says, avoiding the question. "I had a feeling."

Libby grins.

/

She stares at the dress for a while before she puts it on. She knows they're running out of time but it feels big, too big, and she can't quite handle it.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Libby whispers, still fixing her hair, pushing pins in to trap the fly-aways.

Santana shakes her head. "It's what she wanted," she whispers. "She would have wanted me to wear it, it's just... it feels... it's _hers_. She was the last person to wear it and it's just..."

"I know," Libby sighs. She taps her on the elbow. "Come on. I'll help ya."

Santana braces herself as Libby steps forward to take the dress of the hanger. She rearranges her underwear, her stockings, her hair and takes deep breaths as Libby's hands reverently run over the fabric, unfastening the zipper and holding it between her hands, ready to drop it over Santana's head.

"You okay?" Libby asks, Santana nods, holding up her arms until Libby can reach up and drop it over her.

She lets her arms fall into the holes, the fabric gliding down over her body. Santana can feel how her grandmother kept it in good condition all these years because it still feels tough, durable. How, she has no idea. She's still trying to figure out how she got in to America from Cuba.

"It's a little snug," Santana whisper as Libby pulls up the zipper.

Her hands are reverent over the fabric, fingers careful as they fasten the tiny buttons up to her neck. Everything feels so soft and comfortable and startlingly right.

Libby takes a deep breath in once she's finished and turns Santana around to her. Her eyes gaze over her proudly but then they stop, looking at her sharply.

"You gotta remember that your grandmother was an underfed little thing when she wore this," she reminds her but then she tilts her head to the side. "Kinda like you, but still." She shakes her head and her face softens. "You look just like her. Maybe a little bit more beautiful."

Santana smiles and her eyes sting. "Impossible," she comments. Libby looks ready to argue but Santana shakes her head. "I've seen pictures."

It makes her smile and that's all Santana could hope for. She steps away, careful as she sits back at the vanity, searching through the make up to find her grandmother's favorite red lipstick and her favorite perfume. She spritzes herself first, watching Libby reel back a little, before lining her lips with the deep red.

"I only ever saw her wear this once," Santana comments with a smile. "But she used to have like... three or four laying around."

Libby doesn't say anything, just smiles. Santana feels like she knows something but there's a look in her eye that tells Santana that it's just for her. She doesn't push it. She just makes sure her make-up is perfect before taking a deep breath and reaching for the bird cage veil hairpiece Kurt had found for her. It's a little plain but that's all she needs.

"Will you do something for me?" Libby asks suddenly. Santana looks up at her curiously and finds her across the room, her hands burying into her huge purse. It makes her smile with new familiarity as her brow furrows. It falls when she pulls out a fresh white lily encased in plastic. "Will you wear this?"

Her response surprises both of them.

"You were the one putting the lilies in her room," Santana comments dumbly, like she only just figured it out but it'd always been there.

Libby's cheeks pink. "They're her favorite," she says. "They're my favorite too... so will you wear it?"

She doesn't even think before nodding and when the lily is buried in the back of her hair, held in with the clip of her hairpiece, she realizes it's just what she needed.

She looks more than acceptable.

/

She stands nervously in front of the mirror before she goes downstairs. Everybody's waiting but she just wants to be sure.

Libby steps up behind her and their eyes meet in the mirror, Santana's wide with nerves.

"Do I look okay?" she asks softly. Libby doesn't say anything, just nods. It makes her more nervous. "You don't look so sure?"

"You're fine," she whispers and it's then that Santana notices the tears in her eyes.

It makes her smile. She feels like she's done something right. Still, she finds herself having to ask.

"Do I look as pretty as she did?" she broaches with a laugh. "I mean, do you think she'd be proud?"

Libby scoffs. "You wouldn't need to wear this dress to make her proud," she intones forcefully. Her hands squeeze Santana's waist and her face softens. "But yes, you look wonderful, Sweetheart. Beautiful."

From her lips, she believes it.

/

They're gathered at the bottom of the stairs and it's ridiculous, like a misplaced movie moment, as they all stop and stare to look at her as she steps down. Little gasps leave them as their mouths fall open, their eyes bugging out wide in their heads as they, one-by-one, all do a double take at the sight of her.

She ignores them all momentarily, toying with the just-in-case cardigan in her hands, as she steps down the stairs.

Kurt is the first to speak. "Oh, Santana..." he whispers as he presses his hand over his mouth.

Rachel looks like she might cry. "You look—you look..." she shakes her head. "Gorgeous, Santana. Stunning."

She smiles softly as Rachel steps out of the way and takes a deep breath to steady herself. She smirks when Quinn steps in front of her with a grin.

"You wash up good, Lopez," she sighs and her smile is more carefree this morning, lighter. Santana soaks it in happily and stores it away. It'll be a rare thing to find today, she thinks.

Artie reaches for her hand and she lets him without a thought.

"I think what she means is that you look lovely, Santana," he says as he squeezes it and she blushes a little. "Beautiful."

Santana takes that moment to look around at them all. She feels like she needs to say something. They're all stood there dressed in black and looking more beautiful than ever and she just feels like she needs to say something to them.

"Thank you," she says to them earnestly. "I mean... Thank you."

They all just smile.

/

She gives Sam her car keys so he can drop off her and Libby at the funeral home before he takes the others to the church.

She feels nervous as they approach it. She heard someone mention something about a wake but she doesn't want to know about it in case she gets roped in to going. She can remember her grandfather's wake and how brutal it had been, how many people had stepped up to her and wanted to shake her hand when all she wanted to do was curl up and cry.

She doesn't think she could take that right now... not when she knows everyone will be heading straight for her.

She can't think of anything worse.

That's until she sees the line of funeral cars.

Frank comes to meet them and guides them over to the limousine they're going to ride in at the front. He tells her she looks lovely but she stops him as he tries to head back inside, something overcoming her at the silent panic she sees on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asks quietly. Libby looks at her, concerned.

"Nothing, Santana," Frank says and his voice is tight. Too tight. She asks him again. "Nothing," he repeats.

It's then that she thinks she knows. "Are they here?" she asks and her voice fills with panic. She didn't think... she wasn't sure...

She hadn't really thought this far ahead.

He cups her cheek and shakes his head anyway. She breathes out and she feels the panic for one thing drain away as a nameless other fills her.

"We're missing a sixth person to carry her into the church," Frank admits softly a few seconds later. It's like he's deliberately trying to keep her as calm as possible. "And we don't want to ask just anyone because we don't know how to explain why he's not here. We don't know..." he seems speechless for once. "We don't know, Santana."

Her knees fail her a little and she struggles her way to sit inside the limo, her hands shaking.

"But we'll figure it out..." he says softly, quickly. "We'll figure it out... It'll be perfect."

"How can it be perfect," she asks. "if there's not enough people there to carry her damn coffin? How can it be perfect if—if her own son isn't here?"

He bends to looks at her better but he doesn't have anything to say, not for long minutes, not until someone cuts through the silence.

"Santana?"

She looks up and finds Sam standing there. She frowns.

"I couldn't help but overhear your problem and..." he shrugs. "It would be an honor to carry your grandmother for you."

She hugs him and has never loved him more. He whispers to her that it's nothing as she tries to hold back her tears, her cheeks aching with the struggle.

They both know it isn't.

/

They follow behind the hearse and Santana refuses to look up from where she sits between Libby and Frank. If she looks up she'll see the hearse or the trail of funeral cars behind them and she can't stand the thought of seeing either.

It doesn't help that they're forced to drive as slowly as possible. She doesn't understand that. It makes her feel small, looked at. She knows it's so anyone who sees can show their respect but it just makes her feel looked at in a way she doesn't want to be.

"You ready?" Libby asks, her hand reaching over her to stop Frank when he jumps to open the door straight away. He looks at her apologetically and nods, waiting for Santana's breathing to even out. "Remember what I said, okay?" Libby whispers gently. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You don't have to speak to anyone or say anything... we'll handle all of it."

She shakes her head. "I'm fine," she says with a deep breath. "I'm fine. Let's just... let's just get this part over with."

Libby nods and tucks a rogue piece of hair away. "One step at a time," she whispers and Santana agrees with a nod.

/

Everyone looks at her as Frank helps her out of the car but she just keeps her eyes on the door to the church. Father Fuentes stands there waiting and she smiles at him tightly, his purple robes shimmering in the sunlight and catching her eye. He gives her a nod and she returns it before noticing Quinn standing nearby. She steps towards her, Libby following, and reaches for her hand.

"You okay?" she whispers, covering the back of Santana's gloved hands with her own bare ones and rubbing. "Do you need anything? Do you want me to carry your cardigan?"

Santana hadn't even realized she was holding it. She shakes her head and chooses to pull it up her arms instead. She's not sure if she's allowed be showing her shoulders or not. She's not sure if it's appropriate. She wishes her abuela were there to tell her. Quinn helps her silently, reaching wordlessly to fasten the buttons when Santana's hands shake too much to try.

Libby reaches over to press a sloppy kiss to her temple without a word and Santana can feel her own need for comfort in the force of it. She catches Libby's hand as it falls from her shoulder and squeezes it between her own.

"It's time," Father Fuentes smiles kindly as the crowd of guests outside begins to pile into the church.

Quinn gives her a worried look and she tries her hardest to smile. It doesn't work so well and Quinn hugs her quickly before following in.

Libby wraps swaps their hands so she can wrap an arm around her and nods. "You ready, sweetie?" she asks.

Santana nods and allows herself to be led into the church before she can see the coffin being taken from the hearse.

/

She doesn't hear a word anyone says for what feels like forever. All she's aware of is Libby sat beside her and the flickering of shadows as her grandmother's casket comes to rest in front of the alter. Then there's Frank falling to sit on the front pew beside her, Father Fuentes moving around and speaking, except she hears and sees none of it as her eyes concentrate on the lectern in front of her.

It's the same lectern she knows she's going to be forced to stand at in mere minutes as she gives the reading her grandmother had specifically asked for her to read. She takes steady, calming breaths as she waits for her cue and responds to the prayers instinctively without really hearing them.

When Frank and Libby both turn to her, their hands holding onto her tighter, she knows it's time. She releases them both softly, carefully and lets her feet rock into the floor for a second before she stands up. She starts a little when the sound of her footsteps change as she moves from carpet to the marble of the altar. Her knees shake a little and she lets herself hold onto the lectern as she steps around it, eyes flickering as they find the Bible.

She's glad she wore her contacts today. It gives her less incentive to cry.

Her hands are still shaking as she runs her hands over the page, steadying her vision as she checks that the ribbon is in the right place. She darts a smile to Father Fuentes when she sees there's a post-it indicating to her where she needs to read, and finds him smiling kindly and patiently back at her. He gives her an encouraging nod and she swallows as she lets her palm fall to the pages.

"_Who is that coming up from the wilderness_," she begins softly, uncertainly, "_leaning upon her beloved?_" She gulps again and makes the mistake of looking up to find a sea of people staring back at her. It feels like there's a million eyes looking at her and it's nothing like being on stage. It's horrible. She looks back quickly, blinking nervously, and decides to concentrate on the words instead. "_Set me as a seal upon your heart... as a seal upon your arm; for love.._." she trails of suddenly as her brain reads ahead. "_For love is as strong as death, jealousy is cruel as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a most—a most vehement flame._" She shakes her head at the words and smiles a little. "_Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods _drown it." Her eyes water and she shakes her head, willing them away even as her voice betrays her. She looks up again but regrets it. Her eyes trace over all the faces and she barely recognizes any of them. "_If one offered for love all the wealth of one's house... it would be utterly scorned._" She pauses and gulps. "The word of the Lord."

She nods at Father Fuentes as she finishes and leaves the lectern without another word.

/

She pays no attention to anything until she hears Father Fuentes calling Libby to the lectern. It's only then that she remembers that it's Libby that's giving the eulogy. She was glad for it when she found out but now, as she sees Libby's hands shake as they reach in her bag for a sheet of paper, she doesn't know how to feel.

So she watches, enraptured, as Libby stands at the lectern and finds the sea of people just as she did.

"Thank you all for comin'," she says shakily and Santana folds her hands in her lap to watch her. "I didn't know that Elena had so many friends... I'm sure that she probably didn't either." She smiles. "Or she thought that not many of y'all would come say goodbye to an old gal like her. She probably thought that y'all would have forgot who she was by now. I don't think she realized how unforgettable she was. She had it in her head that this would be a modest affair but... I think this is better."

Santana takes a deep breath as Libby eyes her audience.

"Looking around, I'm guessing that it's been a while for a lot of ya. Some of ya look a little shocked. I guess you didn't think she'd be leaving so soon. Well, I didn't either. I didn't either." Santana gulps at the words. She wonders if she's the worst offender but then Libby smiles. "A lot of y'all probably don't know this but I've known Elena the longest. And you can say I'm a liar and you can say 'whatever' cos you've never seen me before but it's true. It's true. I met her in 1957 in Cuba." Her face darkens. "I only—I only had her for four years though. Four years until I lost her a while. A long while, I guess." She laughs and shakes her head. "I guess almost fifty years is a long time."

The room is silent. Santana can hear the people on the back row breathing.

"You know, a lot of people didn't understand why I was waiting for her," Libby says suddenly and Santana momentarily wonders if anyone understands what she's talking about. She ignores it, realizing she doesn't care. "They didn't get it. They told me to just forget about whoever I was waiting for and settle. No one should have to settle for anything. Not when there's hope. Never. Nobody should ever give up. Not on hope. Not on love. Anyone who tells you to obviously hasn't ever experienced real love... or they didn't know Elena. I don't think I could find anybody who wouldn't have waited fifty years for a chance with Elena. I mean, she was gorgeous till the day she died but, good Lord, was she beautiful at seventeen when I met her. She could stop an army with those damn eyes."

Santana smiles.

"But no, I refused to give up on her and..." she pauses and thinks. "it was the best thing I've done with my life. The best thing... even if I've got nothing left to show for it." She chokes on a breath and Santana's eyes widen. "But I'm not bitter about that. I'm bitter about all the years I missed, all the places I never got to go, all the ones I went without her... You know, I used to imagine how she'd look in every single picture I'd take without her. I used to wonder if she did the same for me. I was lookin' through her pictures yesterday and tryna see if I could see myself in them but I wasn't there... and that's what I'm bitter about. But I shouldn't be. I know I shouldn't be. I got to spend longer with her than some people get and she's safe now. She's safe. I'm not worried. I'm not worried. I'll see her again. I know I will."

Santana's breath hitches.

"But I still feel bitter. I feel angry. I feel ashamed that I didn't fight harder because if I'd have known I would spend a life wishing then I would never have let her go. I would never—I would have done whatever I could. I would have..." Santana wants to look away but she's stuck. The tears tremble down Libby's cheeks. "No one deserves a life spent wishing. Nobody. It's cruel. Fate... fate is not a sure thing. Fate only works so far and just... she was the most beautiful thing in the world and you don't walk away from beautiful things. Not if you can be a part of them."

Santana feels Frank's arm wrap around her and she doesn't question it, just leans in to rest her head on his shoulder.

"Every moment with her was a blessing," Libby continues softly. "Every one... but there will never be enough. Not ever. I will have never have spent enough moments with her. And that's the worst thing about love because it makes us greedy and we should just be grateful. I mean, I don't even remember saying thank you to her. I don't remember telling her how proud I was of her."

Santana's heart sinks and she closes her eyes as Brittany's voice whispers in her head. She breathes unsteadily as her breath pants from her with the threat of tears.

"That's why I think we should appreciate every second we share with the people we love," Libby breathes. "We should appreciate every single one because we don't know how many of em we're gonna get. We don't know, so we should take nothing for granted. I know I didn't. Not when I got her back. I told her I loved her every single damn day. I would have done it every minute if I could because loving her was the best thing I ever did and she made every minute of pain and waiting worth it. She was always worth it. She was worth it and—and all I can do is hope that she knew it."

/

She leads the on-foot procession of people that follow the hearse to the cemetery with Libby's hand tightly held in hers. They stand by the grave when they get there and watch quietly as Father Fuentes completes the final prayers and steps away. People around them begin to disperse shortly after, not wanting to stick around for the actual lowering part, but Santana finds herself unable to move until she knows that she's safe and where she should be.

Libby beside her looks just as determined.

They both shake their heads when Frank asks if they want him to wait for them with the car and he leaves shortly after. They just stand there.

"What would you do..." Libby asks suddenly. "...if it was Brittany in the ground? What would you do?"

The response is almost automatic. "Jump in."

Libby doesn't even look shocked. "And that's what matters. Everyone likes to think that they'll die without the people they love but it's just not realistic. What's important is that we don't want to, so why are you still damn standing here?"

Santana feels her body shudder. She shakes her head. "She wanted me to—"

"I am the last thing you need to worry about. Do you hear me?" Libby says. Santana looks up at her from where the cemetery workers have started to fill in the grave. She's kind of glad to have something to concentrate on. "I will be wherever you damn need me to be, okay? If you need to look after me, I'll go where you need to go for you to do it. Just don't worry about it right now."

Santana takes a deep breath in, suddenly unable to think, unable to handle how everything is still changing. She shakes her head and Libby breathes out.

"Just _think _about it," Libby intones and Santana nods, too exhausted and confused to argue.

Libby takes her hand again and they wait until they're the only ones left behind.

And then, just for the hell of it, they wait some more.

/

The bar looks nothing like she expected it to. Santana pauses a little as she approaches it and sees the neon lights flashing, the music pulsating. She looks at Libby who looks on like it's exactly what she expected and tugs on Santana's hand until they're at the door. Frank greets them there, his smile widening as he thrusts two champagne classes at them before filling them.

"What the..." Santana whispers as she sees that Rachel is already on the stage singing _Don't Rain on My Parade_ for her new audience.

Libby smiles. "You didn't really think she'd be one for soda pop and morbid storytelling, did ya?" Santana shakes her head because she didn't know what she expected. "She wanted a damn celebration, so this is what she's gonna get."

Frank nods in agreement. "Also, it's about time you got here. We've been waiting for you before we light up the grill."

Santana unexpectedly wants to cry. For some reason, she thought her grandmother wanted to do this the old-fashioned way but, as she looks around and sees everyone laughing and smiling, she realizes how wrong she was.

Libby suddenly kisses her forehead. "No more tears," she says quietly into her ear and leads her further into the room.

/

She's glad that very few people approach her and even more glad when they don't stay long to pay their respects. She knows some, but doesn't most, and sips on the glass of champagne Frank gave her as she ponders everything around her.

Her grandmother would love this.

Her parents would hate it.

She thinks that, if they'd been given control, they would never have listened to what she wanted.

She's kind of glad that they weren't. She's not sure how she feels about them not being here. She knows that they should be. She knows that her abuela would want them to be, regardless of what they've done.

She just doesn't know what she's supposed to do. There's so much to think about, so much to consider. She doesn't understand how it's harder to make a decision when she's got so little left to lose.

What would she do if she stayed in Florida? There's still a year. Would she go to school? Would she graduate? Would she not and just find a job somewhere? Do she and Libby find a place to live while they continue to rent out the house? It's a nice income from what she can gather. It's been enough for her grandmother to not worry these past few years. What does she do?

But then, what would she do if she went back to Lima? Would she be allowed to use some of her inheritance to get somewhere to live? Would school be okay with the fact that her parents want nothing to do with her? Will Libby or Frank be her legal guardian? Does she tell everyone the truth? Does she risk being slushied everyday? Will her parents want her anywhere near them?

She watches Rachel, Kurt and Mercedes sing and she's not sure if she could give them all up. It's not something she ever thought she'd say but she gets it now. They _are _her family. They're her family and they love her and, hell knows why, but she loves them all too. Even Finn in a would-gladly-murder him kinda way. With them is the only place she fits.

That's a lie.

With them is the only other place she's fit that isn't tucked in Brittany's arms.

That's the only place she's ever properly fit.

Even the thought of her makes Santana's breathing even out and go unsteady at the same time. She feels herself missing her overwhelmingly, the massive gaping hole of it in her chest aching, and she forgets everything else for a second just to wallow in it, just to remember the unending love that comes with it.

She pulls herself out of it a little when Artie is helped onto the stage. She takes a sip of her champagne and washes it around her mouth. Her elbow rests on the table and she presses her other hand into the crook of it as she waits for Artie to sing.

She's a little confused when no music starts but he clears his throat to speak instead.

"Hi," he says softly. "A lot of you don't know me, but I'm Artie. I'm a friend of Santana's. I never met her grandmother but I know that she was a wonderful person. She would have had to have been to let thirteen obnoxious teenagers live in her house for a month for free..." The crowd laughs a little. Santana smiles. "Anyway, Frank came and spoke to us earlier and said that Elena had a special request for a song at her funeral and, well, we're actually a school glee club and we love requests and when Frank told us this one, we just knew we had to sing it."

He smiles big and wide and Santana feels out of the loop as the rest of the club move to stand on the stage behind Artie. She's confused when Puck and Sam seem to pull guitars from nowhere.

"This is to Libby," Artie says softly. "With all the love in the world from Elena."

Santana feels her eyes sting before she can register them. The same goes for the tears when she hears the opening chords of the song. She gasps and her first instinct is to find Libby, sat at the bar where she was getting another drink. Santana laughs a little as a smile falls onto her face and she watches Libby as her mouth opens and her hand moves to clutch at her chest.

_Wise men say_

_Only fools rush in_

_But I can't help_

_Falling in love with you_

_Shall I stay?_

_Would it be a sin?_

_If I can't help _

_Falling in love with you_

Santana chokes back tears as the words fall upon her ears. It feels like she's understanding them for the first time. For Libby, they look like the only thing she's ever really understood in her entire life. Her face relaxes into calm, into relief, the song a lullaby soothing all her worries, her aching heart, and making her feel loved again.

If it was Santana in this situation, if the love of her life had gone so far away, she doesn't think she could need anything other than to be reminded of how loved she is.

She can't think of anything other she needs right now.

_Like a river flows_

_Surely to the sea_

_Darling, so it goes_

_Some things are meant to be_

_Take my hand _

_Take my whole life, too_

_For I can't help_

_Falling in love with you_

_Like a river flows_

_Surely to the sea_

_Darling, so it goes_

_Some things are meant to be_

Libby chokes out a sob and Santana hears it from across the room, hears it echoed back from her throat as she releases one just as hopeless. Libby's green eyes find hers across the room and Santana feels a rush of everything, of loss, of grief, of understanding, of love, as the words finally register.

This is what her grandmother meant.

This is what Libby meant.

Only _some_ things are meant to be. Not everything.

Fate is not a sure thing.

You can't just sit on your ass and wait.

_Take my hand_

_Take my whole life, too_

_For I can't help_

_Falling in love with you_

_For I can't help _

_Falling in love with you_

It suddenly makes no sense that she's sitting there. Her back is as straight as a pole, her eyes as wide and as shocked as she thinks they've ever been. For once, she's glad she's crying because she's pretty sure her eyes would be on fire if she weren't.

But she doesn't care. Only one thing registers in her mind, one thought, one feeling, one everything. She shakes her head and her face falls a little as she says it out loud.

"What am I doing here?" she whispers.

Why has she wasted so much time?

She's on her feet before she can even notice she is. Her hands shake as she's not sure what direction she should be walking in. Everything, the entire trip, is rushing back to her. She remembers how much she'd missed Brittany when she was on vacation, how much her heart had felt at ease when she'd pulled up on her driveway the day she left. She remembers not dancing with her in Memphis and almost falling apart in New Orleans. She remembers making love in Orlando with fireworks in the background and Brittany meeting her grandmother in Miami.

It only occurs to her now, how many of her dreams have actually come true.

Her knees fail her a little as she remembers.

_One day_, she remembers telling Brittany.

One freaking day.

All too suddenly—or maybe not suddenly enough—she realizes that she doesn't want to waste another day without her.

She wants _every day. _

"Quinn!" she says, colliding into her as she steps towards her. Quinn's eyes are bright and sparkling. Santana shakes her head and tears roll down her cheeks. "Quinn!" she says again helplessly, not sure how to explain.

Except, Quinn smiles at her knowingly.

"Quinn," she says again, just because it's the only thing she can.

Quinn pulls her forward and kisses her messily on the forehead. "I know," she says quickly and Santana looks down as keys are presses into her hands. "The Caddy's outside. Your bag's in the trunk and I took the cash from the Chevy and put it into its glove compartment. Go."

"I..."

Quinn laughs. "Go, Santana!" Santana tries to wrap her into a hug but Quinn doesn't let her. "Go!" she chuckles.

Her legs are unsteady, but she doesn't care. Libby's there holding the door for her when she gets to it and she just nods quickly and kisses her on the temple as she passes. "I'll see you soon," she promises and Santana smiles. "Go get her."

She laughs almost in disbelief as she runs from the bar to the Caddy. Her hands shake as she pulls open the driver's side door and mentally tells herself to cut that out now or she'll never get there. Her hands stop automatically, adrenaline and confidence and nerves battling together as she sinks into the seat and leans down to put in the key.

She's about ready to fucking kick it and scream when it chokes and grumbles and refuses to start.

"Come on!" she urges it. "Come on! Come on! Come on!" It still refuses, adamant. "Come _on_, you piece of shit. Come on!"

It coughs and it sounds a little more hopeful that time. She hears a car pull up nearby and she hopes to God it isn't in the way when she pulls out of this stupid parking lot. She doesn't give a shit about paintwork or anything as long as she gets to Brittany just a minute quicker. She honestly could not give two shits how old and classic this car is. Her heart is set and so is her brain for once.

"Get out of the way, Quinn," she says when she wanders over and hovers near the hood. Santana sees blond hair out the corner of her eye. She ignores it because she doesn't need any help. "I've almost got it... I've almost damn... Come _on_, you piece of shit!"

She slams her fist against the wheel and tries again.

"Okay..." Just that one word stops her. "But have you got room for one more?"

At that, Santana's entire body stops completely, flooding with disbelief. She freezes, letting the voice wash over her, its words, its sweetness. She doesn't want to look up in case it's all just her imagination playing tricks on her, a damn mirage or she's gone crazy. She does though because what if it isn't? What if she's right there in front of her, alive and real and close enough to touch?

She takes a deep, unsteady breath in and grips the wheel with both hands as she remains looking in her lap. She can see the shadow of her, shifting uncomfortably back with worry. It surges her with panic and she breathes out the air in her lungs as she slowly looks up, preparing herself for whatever she sees.

It's not enough.

It will never be enough.

Not when Brittany's stood there looking smaller yet more larger than life than she's ever seen. Not when she's looking at her so desperately with bright blue tired eyes. Not when dirty yellow Chucks are digging into the ground. Not when two unsure hands are clutching at the bottoms of her shorts as her duffle threatens to fall off of her shoulder.

Not ever.

The whole thing feels like a new beginning, a start over, and she thinks about how she'd just sat there and waited for her to come to her all those weeks ago in her driveway at those same words and regrets it more than she's ever regretted anything.

Her hand fumbles for the handle to the door and she's climbing out of the car before she can tell herself to. She hears Brittany's breath hitch and her feet take an unsteady step back but she just feels focused. She's more focused than ever and her eyes lift to look at Brittany determinedly as she walks towards her.

"Please, Santana..." she hears Brittany whisper desperately. "I'll wait..." she gasps. "I'll wait... I don't care. I don't care, just _please_..." And then she's sobbing and Santana only reacts by moving closer to her, faster and steadier. "I'm in love with you," Brittany chokes. "I'm in love with you. I'll wait. I promise. I _promise_, Santana... Just please... just please give me one more—"

She hears her pleas.

And she sees her tears.

Her sad little face.

And she ignores them all.

Instead, she kisses her.

And, just like that, everything disappears and the only thing left in the world is Brittany.

/

Her mouth falters against Santana's, not used to crying and kissing at the same time. She kisses her like it's the first time all over again, except it really does feel like it. Something new and fresh tingles at Santana's mouth at the feel of her lips and she kisses against Brittany's mouth, willing to do all the work she can't yet.

She wants to feel and remember everything at once but it's so hard.

Brittany's hands struggle at her sides, clutch at her shorts, not knowing what to do. Santana just holds her tightly, right hand at the base of her back and left on the curve of her cheek, urging her closer. Brittany whimpers and sobs against her and it's beautiful, it's _so _beautiful that she doesn't know what to do with it, almost wants to run away from it, but instead, she strokes her thumb underneath Brittany's eye and feels the tears coating it instantly.

Brittany pulls back as much as she can when Santana doesn't give her a chance to breathe but Santana barely lets an inch grow between them, not willing to let Brittany go this soon. She's calmer than anything while Brittany gasps with panic and Brittany's hand brushes her arm as she tries to get air back into her lungs. The tears don't stop.

"Santana... everyone—everyone's looking at us," she whispers and she's terrified. Santana doesn't even spare a glance at the faces she knows will be there. She's seen them all too much recently. There's only one face she wants to see now.

She pulls her hand from Brittany's back and joins it with the one on her face. She wipes away Brittany's tears and looks at her gently, takes her in because she's here and she's safe and she _loves _her.

"I don't care," she whispers with a shake of her head. It's quiet but its importance is loud. Brittany lets out a few more sobs, her face falling as Santana strokes away her tears. "I don't care," she breathes, pulling Brittany back to her.

The duffle falls to the floor forgotten and then they're kissing again and Brittany's hands are clutching at her hips, scrunching at the fabric of her dress. Santana's never been more glad for their height difference, for Brittany's choice to wear Chucks and the stupidly uncomfortable heels she's wearing, because it means she can kiss her as deeply and as easily as she wants to, drawing her lips between her own and kissing them sweetly, savoring. It's a rush and a thrill, her heart beating right for the first time in days, as Brittany clings to her like she's the only thing in the world.

When she gasps and pulls away again, bursting into sobs, Santana feels herself smiling. Her hand drifts around to the back of Brittany's neck, curling into her tangled hair, and her arm wraps around her until their bodies are flush together. Brittany's arms wrap around her waist and she kisses away the tears without a thought, litters them over her skin until she reaches the hinge of Brittany's jaw.

Her nose buries into the smell of Brittany's hair, her skin. She smells of her sheets at home, exhaustion and sweetness. She smells like Brittany and that's what Santana wants. That's what she needs as she noses into it. She needs Brittany surrounding her and engulfing her senses to feel safe enough to speak.

She needs it to feel safe, period.

"I am in love with every beautiful... _ridiculous_ inch of you," she sighs into Brittany's ear when she's heard her sobs quiet down. Brittany hiccups against her cheek at the words and it urges her on. "Every single, tiny, minuscule piece." Santana feels herself falter for the first time since she saw her. "I think you're perfect," she whispers. "You're perfect and I don't know what I would do... I don't know what I would do without you." She shakes her head. "What would I do, Britt Britt? What would I do without you there? Where would I go? Who would I be?" Brittany's hands tighten in her dress. "You're my family. You're my best friend. You're—you're my _everything._" She breathes in. "What would I do if I stopped loving you? It doesn't make any sense."

Brittany just whimpers against her, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

"I'm sorry..." Santana breathes. "I am so sorry, baby. I am so sorry for everything." She nuzzles Brittany's skin. "I regret every shitty thing I've ever done to you. Every single one. I promised myself that, one day, I'd make up for all of it. I'd give you _everything_ you deserved. I didn't think to wonder about what you _wanted_..." Santana moves her hand from the back of her head to her cheek, cradling it softly as she presses their faces closer. "But that's because I never thought it would be _me_."

Brittany makes a noise that sounds like disagreement. Santana kisses her ear quickly. "But that's because... that's because, don't you see? You're not just _worth it_, Brittany. You _are _it. You're what everything means. If I lose you—if you aren't there—I don't know what to do. I meant it when I said I'd build my life around you. I want _you. _I want you there every day. I want to share everything with you..." Her voice fails and she swallows. "I want my life with you. I want our lives to be together." She falters as everything she never said comes tumbling from her mouth. "One day—one day I want to be your wife. I want to marry you."

Brittany gasps and her grip tightens. Santana feels her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek, her warm breath as steady and comforting as anything blowing past her ear.

"That's what I'm scared of... not my—my parents or our friends or the rest of the world..." she shakes her head. "I'm scared of not spending the rest of my life feeling how happy you make me. I've spent years trying to convince myself that I don't want anything more than to spend the rest of my life with you because I know I'm not good enough. I know that one day, I'm going to let you down or it'll all be taken away and I... We're only seventeen years-old, Brittany."

She chokes out a sob.

"Why would you want to spend the rest of your life with me?" she asks, genuinely confused.

She doesn't expect Brittany to turn more to her, to press her nose to her temple and sigh against her ear.

"Why _wouldn't_ I?" she breathes softly. Santana buckles into her a little. Brittany's warm hands drift to clutch her tighter and it's the best thing in the world. "I don't care what you are, what you're not, what you think I deserve, any of it. I don't care. I want you. I want _you_ and I've never said that enough. I've never made you believe it but I will. I love you and I have nothing to give you, nothing but my heart, and it isn't even mine. Not really. It's yours. I'm _yours_."

Santana whimpers and her eyes flutter closed at the words. It's like she's hearing them for the first time and understanding what they mean. "Mine," she repeats with a whisper. Brittany nods softly in reassurance. Santana sighs and then: "I make you happy?" she asks softly.

Brittany's arm wraps around her shoulders and draws her closer. "The happiest," she whispers.

"Good," Santana whispers. "Because that's all I want. I just want to make you happy." She chokes out another sob full of relief. There's such a long way to go, so much left to say and talk about, but she's filled with so much hope. It can wait. All the other things can wait because she just wants this for a minute. "God, I missed you..." she breathes. "I missed you so much."

Brittany's eyes flutter with a sigh. "I missed you, too," she mumbles. "I don't work properly without you."

She pulls back and Santana breathes in steadily at the sight of her, all bright blue teary eyes and blushed pink cheeks. She tangles her hands back in the hair at the nape of Brittany's neck and presses their noses together. Brittany's breath hitches as she does it and her eyes dart all over Santana's face for a second.

"I'm sorry I left," Brittany whispers.

Santana shakes her head. "I'm sorry I never came after you."

"No," Brittany sighs. "Don't be sorry for that. You were busy. You had things to do... but you should have called me."

Santana nods. "I know. I was just scared."

Brittany's hand reaches for her cheek, stroking it with her thumb. "But I love you... it's my job to look after you. Whether I'm mad or not doesn't change that. If you need me, that's where I want to be. I want to look after you."

Santana nods. "I know that now," she whispers. She doesn't know how to say that she's sure Brittany's the only one who really knows how, so she just nods and looks at her, appreciating every little piece she can see in silence.

Brittany looks back at her and she nods. It's like she can see something register in Santana, that she understands and it's enough for now, too. Santana feels something warm inside of her at the sight of it, at the way Brittany's fingertips stroke lines down her cheeks. She falls into her a little more, trusting her, bracing herself with a hand around her shoulders. Brittany pecks her nose and stares at her lips.

"I'm going to kiss you again now," she whispers.

Santana just nods.

/

She's reluctant to pull away but, when she does, she doesn't move far. She couldn't, not with Brittany's arm around her and not when her hand is pressed insistently to her cheek. Her only choice is to look at Brittany as she blinks her eyes open.

"You love me," Brittany whispers and Santana feels her own smile growing on her face as she sees the big goofy grin tug at Brittany's mouth.

"For a long time," she whispers. "Maybe even longer than you've loved me."

Brittany shakes her head. Their noses stroke over each other in an Eskimo kiss as she does it. "No..." she hums. "Not possible."

Santana smiles. "It's a little possible."

"Maybe," Brittany relents quickly. Her face falls a little then. Santana reaches up to tilt her chin back. She kisses it when it's close to her mouth and Brittany struggles a smile. "We have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

Santana nods, her stomach dropping with worry and excitement. It can wait. She says as much. "We've waited a long time... what's a couple more hours? That way we can talk in private and we won't have all of these people..." She looks away from Brittany for the first time but instead of catching the sight of the others by the bar, she finds someone else, standing near where Brittany had arrived from. "Bobby?" she says in confusion.

The angry glare that Brittany turns and shoots him makes her smile.

"Oh," she says disdainfully, like she's only just remembered he's there. "I'm mad at him, right now. He forgot to tell me that he spoke to you—twice—and didn't notice that you were hurting. Mom made him chaperone me here. I'm grounded," she pouts.

Santana gives her a look. "You ran away," she reminds her.

Brittany's smile turns sheepish. She looks really impressed with herself for a second. "I wanted to see you."

Santana thinks for a moment and wonders what would have happened if Brittany had never ran away. They wouldn't be here for a start. They wouldn't be kissing in front of all these people if she hadn't.

"I'm glad you did," she whispers. Brittany's cheeks pink. "But I'm going to go hug your brother now."

"But..." Brittany says.

Santana kisses her again, but untangles their arms. She thinks it's cute that Brittany refuses to let go of her hand and wanders over with her to meet Bobby. Santana wraps her arms around him and the feel of his arms around her body, and Brittany standing behind her with a hand on her waist, makes her feel better than she has in a while.

"Are you two done yet?" Bobby asks in her ear.

"Never," she tells him softly. He laughs but then he softens and clutches her closer.

He presses a sloppy kiss to the top of her head. "Sorry about your grandma, Honeybee," he whispers. Her blood cools at the reminder of her sadness. "And your parents." He gives her another kiss, just because. "Are you doing okay?"

"I am now," she whispers. "I am now."

/

"You have lipstick everywhere," Santana tells her with a smile, when they're still stood outside the bar twenty minutes later. She stands in front of Brittany as she leans against the hood of the Caddy and holds her hands gently in her own, their fingers roping around each other as they take a moment to settle and reacquaint themselves with the rest of the universe.

Brittany doesn't move. She glances back to Santana from where she was watching Bobby calling their mom, and smiles. She pulls one of her hands away from Santana's and lifts it up to her mouth but Santana shakes her head when she just makes it worse and reaches up to do it for her.

"Here..." she whispers and Brittany just juts her chin forward a little to let her, giggling when Santana pulls a tissue from the tiny pocket of her cardigan. She wipes gently until all the red color has gone and all that's left behind is the swollen blush of her lips. "All better," she whispers when she's done and doesn't argue when Brittany takes the tissue and does the same for her.

Her hand lingers on Santana's cheek when she's done, the other tucking the tissue back into Santana's pocket before its fingers resume tracing lines alone her jaw from earlier. Santana softens and feels her world shrink again, her eyes growing dark and hazy as Brittany pulls her closer.

She rests their foreheads together again. "Sorry I ruined your lipstick," she whispers.

Santana shakes her head. "I can put more on," she says.

"Don't," Brittany whispers softly and Santana's heart flutters at the promise in it. "I should probably find somewhere to get changed though."

Santana looks down at her, in her t-shirt and shorts and doesn't think she could look more perfect. "You don't have to worry about that," she says, clutching her closer.

Brittany smirks a little and reaches down to pull her closer with a hand on the middle of her back. Santana goes with it until her body is completely flush with Brittany's.

"I smell, though," Brittany whispers with a giggle. "I've been wearing these since yesterday and I want—I want to look respectable for—for your abuela..."

She trails off at the mention and Santana's breath hitches a little. She looks at her and feels another wave of relief that Brittany got to meet her before she...before she left. It's a small thing but she feels safer knowing that her grandmother got to meet her and understand how much Santana loved her. She's glad that she got her blessing before she was no longer there to give it. She waited so long just for that and she can't imagine how terrible it would feel if they'd never met, how disappointed she would feel.

Something about her expression must change because Brittany's hand drifts around to the back of her neck and tugs until their noses are squashed together, until she can almost feel their eyelashes fluttering against each other. Brittany offers her a warm smile and Santana can tell that she doesn't really know what to do to make everything better.

She hopes one day Brittany can understand that the only thing she needs to do is be there and everything's perfect.

"I want to look respectable for you, too," Brittany whispers a moment later, lighter this time. Her eyes flutter down to the rest of Santana and Santana watches them widen. "Look at you. You're beautiful." Her brow furrows and Santana smiles uncontrollably because she's missed that confused little look. "Is that allowed?" Brittany asks. "I mean... aren't you supposed to look super depressing?"

Despite everything, Santana laughs at that. "This dress is my abuela's," she explains softly, pulling back a little to smooth her hands over her hips. "So, it is kind of depressing..."

Brittany takes her hands from Santana's face and copies her movements. Her hands move reverently over the fabric until they settle on Santana's hips. Santana covers them with her own without thinking.

"No," Brittany whispers after a second. "You're perfect. It's perfect."

Her heart swoops and she goes with it as Brittany's hands slip around and pull her closer again. Her arms lift to wrap around Brittany's shoulders and she softens into the kiss that she finds pressed sloppily into the corner of her mouth. She sinks into Brittany's embrace and it isn't until someone clears their throat nearby that they reluctantly pull away.

"So, you're not done yet?" Bobby asks with a smirk. Santana feels her cheek burn against Brittany's and a hand taps at her waist to get her to pull back.

She smiles sheepishly and kisses Santana's forehead. "We should get changed," she whispers. Santana nods.

/

Aunt Dena leads the three of them through the back and out through a courtyard until they end up in their house next door. She takes them through to the bedroom and offers them use of the bathroom before she gives Santana a squeeze and leaves a few moments later, telling them she'll get them all a drink ready for when they come back.

Bobby has no qualms about instantly dropping his leather duffle to the bed and dropping his jeans just as quickly. Santana giggles as Brittany scoffs and averts her eyes at the sight of him, taking her hand and squeezing it in her own. Bobby pulls some dress pants and a shirt from his duffle a moment later and tugs on the shirt before pulling the pants up his legs. He buttons up his shirt and tucks it into his pants before pulling out a tie.

"Britt," he says and Brittany rolls her eyes before pulling her hands away from Santana's and turning to him.

She takes the tie and Santana watches as Bobby lifts up his chin to let her wrap it around his neck and tug it into a knot. She laughs a little when Brittany pushes it up too tight and feels another rush of relief when Bobby leans forward and pinches the back of Brittany's arm. She didn't think she'd get this again. She hasn't had it in _so long_ and it's just... Tears well in her eyes at the sight of them.

"I'm going out to the bar," he says grumpily, probably exhausted. "I'm gonna get a damn beer and escape you after sixteen hours."

His tone is severely undercut by his actions when he presses a kiss to Brittany's head as he goes.

Brittany pouts angrily until Santana steps forward and sits on the bed next to Brittany's duffle. She pushes it towards her and Brittany leans forward, taking things out of it without a word, her cheeks going pink when Santana doesn't move.

"Are these new?" Santana asks when the only thing she recognizes is the shirt Brittany pulls out.

Brittany shakes her head. "I didn't have anything black to wear, so SJ loaned me her skirt."

Santana grimaces. "Gross," she holds it out in front of her curiously. "Does she try to look like an old lady?"

Brittany giggles and Santana feels her throat go dry when she begins undressing. Her Chucks go first, kicked aside before she reaches for her shorts. She unzips them, only to tug her t-shirt from inside them and over her head. Santana wants to cough to clear her throat, but she also doesn't want Brittany to notice anything's wrong. She wills herself to look away but when Brittany's shorts drop and she's in her underwear she can't.

"I need to change my underwear," Brittany whispers with a chuckle, leaning in to retrieve one of the few matching sets she has. Santana does clear her throat then. "Perve," she hears muttered from Brittany's mouth above her and then there's a kiss being pressed to her forehead before Brittany saunters off to the bathroom taking her shirt and wash bag with her.

She doesn't close the door, though and Santana's glad to be able to see the shadow of her moving around inside.

"You can go back if you want to," Brittany whispers but her voice betrays that it's the last thing she wants. "They probably need you there right? Everyone probably wants to see you..."

"Uncle Frank won't let them," she says softly. "They're a little..." she trails off, not sure how to explain the amount of visitors she's had the past few days. "It doesn't matter," she says instead. "I don't want to be away from you just yet..."

She hates herself a little for how obvious she's being. It's a little clingy and the fear of scaring Brittany away is too old to disappear this quickly. She winces, but when she hears Brittany go silent for a minute, she doesn't mind. She knows her words are true. Even being a few feet away from her after this many days sounds excruciating.

"That's—that's good," Brittany says softly after a while. "I—I don't want that either."

/

Brittany asks her to pass her her skirt and Santana lets the sound of her heels change from carpet to tile as she wanders into the bathroom to give it to her. She hands it over wordlessly, too enamored by the sight of Brittany in nothing but her underwear, her white and blue striped t-shirt that stops at the tops of her thighs and the knee-high socks she was wearing when she arrived. Brittany smiles at her as she finishes putting on her mascara and just steps into the skirt when Santana leans down to help her into it.

She stands behind her as she fastens the zipper and buttons it around the waist. She makes sure that Brittany's shirt is tucked in perfectly and smooths her hands over her shoulders just because.

"You okay?" Brittany asks as she turns. Santana keeps her hands on her hips and Brittany lets her, using her as leverage as she lifts her leg to start pulling off her socks. It feels so domestic and normal that Santana lets her forehead fall to rest on Brittany's shoulder.

She nods when Brittany squeezes her hip and pulls back nervously. The words from her mouth feel strange but important, like nothing can move on from here until it's dealt with.

"Will you meet someone for me?" she asks quietly, a whisper. "I want you to meet someone."

Brittany cups her cheek to lift her chin and she looks concerned but nods away, kisses her until the worry goes away.

/

Brittany obsesses over the fact that the only shoes she has are her Chucks, worries that she'll look silly when everyone sees her wearing them. Santana just presses kisses to her cheek, then her mouth, until she feels too warm and has to stop. She tugs off her cardigan and tucks it inside of Brittany's duffle, carrying it for her as Brittany holds onto her hand with both of her own while they walk back to the reception.

She drops Brittany's bag beside Bobby at the bar where he's getting that drink from Aunt Dena and then pulls her through the crowd to the table at the back where she knows she'll be sitting.

Not many people were talking to her before.

Santana's pretty sure that they don't know what to say, what's rude to ask. Brittany's hand tightens in hers in confusion as they approach her, but then loosens when she sees her face grow into a soft smile at the sight of them.

"I thought you'd left," she says in greeting even though they both know she probably saw what happened like the rest of them. "Who's this?" she says knowingly.

Brittany looks between them, confused, but Santana just squeezes her hand tighter, more from nerves than anything else. Libby's smile softens a little until Santana turns to Brittany and smiles.

"This is Libby," she explains softly and finds that she doesn't know what else to say. She turns back to Libby and smiles some more. "This is my—" her eyes widen and she stops herself. _Girl,_ she wanted to say, but it's a little... "Brittany."

Libby smirks at her and holds a hand out for Santana to take hold of. She does, wordlessly, and breathes unsteadily for a minute.

"Your Brittany?" Libby teases. Santana feels her cheeks pink but nods anyway. Libby uses the hand Santana holds to pull herself up. "Well," she says once she's a little closer. "It's about time we met. I've heard so much about you."

Brittany snaps her eyes to Santana and narrows them quickly. "What have you been saying?" she says softly.

Santana opens her mouth to speak but she's cut off quickly.

"Not from Santana," Libby explains softly. She smiles and Santana feels the grips on her hands tighten. "From Elena," Libby goes on. "She spoke very highly of you."

When Brittany's eyes widen and fill with tears, Santana forgets about her own sudden need to cry. It doesn't feel important when the words look more important to Brittany, when she sees relief coat her features. Understanding goes unspoken between the three of them and, yet again, Santana's thankful that Brittany got to meet her grandmother.

And because of this moment, she's glad that she got to meet Libby too.

/

They talk to her for a while. Libby doesn't ask many intrusive questions, just asks about Brittany's journey—which Santana is shocked to learn involved an airplane and two transfers—and how Santana's holding up.

Libby asks if her back and hips are doing okay for about the millionth time that day and something registers on Brittany's face that makes the grip on her hand loosen a little in concern, her eyes growing wide.

Santana wonders if she knows what happened, except she doesn't really want to think about it and stops quickly. But then Brittany crosses her other hand over her body and replaces it with the one in Santana's and Santana looks at her with worry until she feels an arm wrapped protectively around her waist.

She smiles and Libby catches her knowingly. She changes the subject quickly and asks her easier questions so that she can ease herself into the comfort of it. Then she just stops talking all together and stares at them.

/

Libby tells her not to worry when some of the others finally come up and find them. She excuses herself before Santana can argue, telling them that she needs another drink before she heads for the bar.

Santana just leans to press a kiss to her cheek in thanks and lets herself be jostled around as she's roped into the hugs Brittany receives from their friends. She doesn't think she'd have a choice anyway. Brittany refuses to let her go, tucking her into her body possessively as everyone says their hellos and i-missed-yous. Brittany's a little stiff with Artie until Santana bumps their hips and shakes her head. She actually lets go of Santana and hugs him after that, whispering something in his ear before he shakes his head.

Brittany doesn't say anything to Sam and grabs Quinn's arms to look at the long dressing she has stuck along her forearm with confusion.

In the end, the others end up wandering off to leave them alone, leaving Santana to explain everything that happened while she was away.

Brittany grimaces when she hears about Rachel and Finn, smirks when she hears about Quinn falling for Artie but it worried about her injuries. Brittany is intrigued at the prospect of Sam and Rachel and looks a little sad when she hears about Tina and Mike breaking up for good.

They've been sat there for a while though, her knees wedged between Brittany's and their hands clasped over the table, when Brittany's eyes look curiously at her. Santana reaches for a glass of champagne and takes a sip, just to clear her mouth.

"Santana..." she starts softly. Santana waits. Brittany's face grows uncertain and she runs her thumb back and forth over her knuckles.

When Brittany doesn't say anything, she lifts Brittany's hand till she can kiss the back of it. "What, baby?" she whispers.

"Did that lady..." she starts again and shakes her head. "Did your abuela love that lady?" she asks finally.

Santana's heart catches in her chest, skipping a beat. Her smile is strained so she doesn't cry when she whispers. "Yes, she did."

Her answer makes a thoughtful, appreciative smile befall Brittany's lips. She copies Santana's movements and brings Santana's hand up to her mouth to kiss it.

"I like her," she comments.

Santana laughs and a tear slips down her cheek. "Me too," she whispers.

/

The problem with having the reception at the bar is that, come dinnertime, the room starts to fill up and it gets a little hard to handle the champagne flow. Frank calls up Gus, his security guard, to come help with all the wayward vacationers who refuse to leave and, as the room starts to empty out of actual guests, it gets a little hard to excuse why they're kicking them out.

Private function or not, some people come to Key West just to experience this bar. It's a fifty year old institution and when people have been waiting days to visit, it's hard to turn them away when the lights are on and the music's loud.

"Frank, just let them in and put the champagne away," Libby says, bored. Frank shakes his head, torn and guilty. Dena stares at him from her place tucked in the corner of the bar and shakes her head knowingly. "She wouldn't care. I think all she'd care about is the fact that if you don't you'll probably be fixing your windows soon. There's a crowd."

"A bus full of kids from Delaware turned up yesterday," Frank explains. "Then there was one from Minnesota this morning. A college football team or fraternity or something. I can't remember. Someone warned me but I thought we'd be okay."

"So open the bar..." Libby says.

Frank gives her a look. "It's her damn funeral reception."

"Everybody's left," Libby says exasperatedly. "It's just us and we can go back to the house if we need to."

"Yeah!" Santana cuts in from where she stands between Brittany and Bobby at the bar. "It'd probably be better. We've had a lot of champagne and my feet are hurting in these shoes and it's hot and..." She shrugs. "Just open the bar. It's a waste."

"But—but..." Frank says desperately.

Santana thinks he looks like a little kid. She turns her head to look at Dena. "I'm sure that you can handle it, right?" Dena winks. "That way someone can come hang with the cool kids."

/

Bobby tries to wrestle the keys for the Caddy from her but she just jumps in the driver's seat and demotes him to the back. Brittany helps Libby into the seat beside him and Brittany climbs in to the front. They all laugh as the others attempt to fill the back of her Chevy with the leftover booze behind them, Sam juggling boxes of beer and champagne as Frank directs him.

Santana decides to leave without them, listening as the car splutters just once before the engine starts. She rolls her eyes at it before pulling out of the parking lot, squeezing past the crowd of people outside of the bar.

Bobby stares up as they pull up to the house and Libby and Santana laugh at him as he breathes out quietly.

"I always imagined that Key West houses were like... beach huts and stuff," he says as Santana enters the house and switches on the lights. Brittany takes his bag from him and tosses it and her own on the bottom stair before wandering through to the kitchen.

Something about it makes Santana breathless and she struggles with the buttons of the air-con, too busy thinking about other things that she really thinks it's too soon to be thinking about right now.

She's glad when the others turn up, loud and causing a ruckus, talking about food and finding ice and getting chairs. Rachel, set in her ways as housekeeper, yells at everyone to leave their shoes in the entryway because she vacuumed the day before but everyone ignores her. Santana assumes it's champagne or Sam-induced happiness that has her throwing her hands up and not caring. She heads off into the kitchen after everyone else and Santana lets her smile grow as she follows them.

She's caught by Libby who pulls her back and hugs her tightly. "Feel better?"

"Much," she says, probably too quickly.

/

Santana's helping Rachel get glasses from the top shelf (despite Rachel's demands that she needs to be careful and should still be resting) when Sam pokes his head back into the kitchen.

"Santana, there aren't enough chairs for everybody," he says quickly. Santana rolls her eyes because she never really noticed how perfect he was for Rachel Berry more than in that moment.

"What about in the garage?" she says, not really caring if there aren't enough chairs. Brittany appears at her side a minute later, hand on her back as gently as possible and a bottle of water in the other. She offers it to Santana quickly and Santana shakes her head with a smile.

She turns back to Sam and finds him looking at her awkwardly. "About that..." he says. "You know those chairs we took into the pool house so there was enough room for all of us to play Xbox?" She nods. "Well, about... a week ago, Finn broke three of them when he was angry. So we're missing two chairs."

Santana just rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Sam shrinks a little. Rachel chuckles.

"Just... carry the armchair out," she says, rubbing Santana's arm. "Two people can share it or something."

Sam smirks at that and Santana mentally notes to not let either of them near it. She doesn't want another chair broken.

/

Rachel's snacks aren't enough for everyone who all clutch their stomachs hungrily. Frank offers to go back and get the rest of the meat leftover from the reception but they all groan at the thought of it.

"I'm so sick of barbecue," Mercedes voices for all of them. "I've had enough damn barbecue to last me a lifetime on this trip."

They all nod.

"I could go for like... Chinese food..." Puck says, staring at the sky dreamily.

Sam hums. "My mom makes mean meatloaf," he comments. "And like... fresh biscuits and gravy."

"Pizza," Quinn says suddenly. She leans forward to where Frank is pouring Libby a drink and groans. "Ever since you got us that pizza in Miami, it's all I've wanted."

Artie gives her a look. "You had pizza without us?" he says teasingly. She shoves him a little.

"Ass," she comments but then kisses his cheek.

Santana hears Brittany giggle from beside her at the cuteness of them.

"Pizza does sound good, though," Brittany says softly.

With that, it's decided.

/

They all settle in once the pizza place has been called, telling them to come around the side when they get here. Santana makes a break for the armchair but barely makes it when Frank throws himself down into it. She rolls her eyes knowing that no one has a chance of sitting in it now, even more so when he closes his eyes and rests his head back, breathing evening out instantly.

Brittany tries to push her into the last, leftover chair but Santana refuses telling her to take it. They stay like that, trying to force each other into it for a few minutes, before Artie groans and pulls Santana into his lap.

"Just sit your ass down," he says with a laugh. "You're making me dizzy."

Brittany looks at him confused and her hand reaches out to save Santana almost. Her eyes practically bug out of her head when Santana doesn't argue, just settles in to him and snuggles. She offers Brittany a smile but she still looks confused. It's not until Santana offers her a hand that she calms, a smile tugging at her lips at the same time Libby coaxes her into conversation.

Santana watches them talk with a smile on her face growing every time Brittany makes Libby laugh. She wishes she could just get up and fall into Brittany's lap but she knows that, here, with everyone looking, it would probably still feel weird. The attention would be too much. Things are still too delicate for it.

And she's having more fun watching Brittany from here than if she would sitting in her lap. The small distance is almost a gift. She likes knowing that she _could_ go over there and sit with her if she wanted to. It's more than she's had before.

"Told you so," Artie whispers into her ear suddenly. She jumps and turns to him with a shy smile. He wraps his arms around her tightly and she lets him squeeze her as Quinn giggles at them both.

When he stops and Santana turns her eyes back to the table, she finds Brittany watching her softly and has never felt more at ease.

Brittany leans forward to kiss the back of her hand and her heart skips a beat.

It almost doesn't feel real.

/

She eats her pizza on Artie's lap, sharing slices of her specially ordered meat monstrosity with him without argument. Brittany leans over and steals pieces of ham from the top of the slice she's eating and pops them into her mouth with the bite of the pepperoni pizza she's sharing with Libby. It's cute and she kicks off her shoes, just so she can wrap her ankles around Brittany's.

Brittany doesn't even flinch. She's too busy debating favorite episodes of _Spongebob_ with Bobby, Artie and—strangely—Libby, who Santana discovers was actually a pediatric nurse before she quit.

Santana knows better than to ask why. She sees the sad in Libby's face and can almost tell how much she probably wanted children. She's not dense enough to not be able to figure out that this was her way of getting to spend her life with them.

It's just, now, looking at Brittany and Libby talking together about cartoons, she's imagining and dreaming all these things that seem sort of more possible than if she'd have dreamed them yesterday. It feels too big and she takes a deep breath to steady herself, not knowing what to do with the huge bubble of hope that resides in her chest.

So, she watches and stays quiet instead, trying her hardest to stop brain for thinking about them.

It doesn't work and images of summer garden parties, laughter and small perfect humans she hasn't met yet fill up her imagination to the point of insanity.

She smiles when Brittany glances at her and wishes with all she has that it comes true.

/

After a while, Puck groans and leans forward.

"I'm bored," he grumbles with a yawn. He tugs at the tie still wrapped around his neck and holds up his hands. "I call poker."

Santana groans at the suggestion and lets her head fall back to Artie's shoulder. He laughs at her and shakes her a bit.

"Scared you'll lose, Lopez?"

Santana looks up. "To you?" she asks. "When has that ever happened?"

"I haven't played poker in forever," Bobby says around his beer. "I mean, I taught these two everything they know."

He gestures at Santana and Brittany, who turns her nose up at the subject. "Poker's boring," she says.

"I agree," Santana says. "My feelings on poker are the same as my feelings on barbecue right now. I've had enough."

"I'll play," Frank says with a nod. "It's been a while though."

"Me too," Libby says suddenly and Santana looks at her and can't help the laugh that bubbles in her throat. "I only play for cash, though."

Puck rubs his hands together and then pushes Mike beside him out of the way to kiss her sloppily on the cheek. Libby doesn't pause in slapping him upside the head because of it, but Puck just laughs and rubs the spot happily.

"I'm lookin' forward to this," he says and Santana wants to hit him because of his tone. "Who's got the cards and the chips?" he asks.

Santana jumps off of Artie's lap.

"I'll get em," she says and takes the opportunity to shove Puck's face into the leftover pizza on his plate as he goes.

/

A barrage of requests is shouted to her as she stands in the kitchen looking through Rachel's organization to find the poker set. Everything from napkins to a glass to water to money, and she struggles to hold it all as she returns outside.

She almost drops it all when she realizes that they've all moved around and now Brittany sits on the armchair while Frank sits in her seat beside Libby. She tries to keep it cool as she hands out everything everybody wanted and doesn't want to presume once she's handed Libby her water and starts to move back to sit with Artie.

She doesn't get very far. He shakes his head and wheels into the table so she can't get to him, leaving her hovering around. She wordlessly moves back to Brittany on the armchair and perches timidly on the arm, not prepared when Brittany just looks up and pulls her into her lap. Her ass fits into the gap between the arm and Brittany's thigh but her legs fall over Brittany's awkwardly. Brittany pulls them up over the other arm of the chair until she's sitting on it sideways, and tugs Santana's arm around her shoulders, a nervous little smile on her face even as she tries to be confident.

It's cute and Santana ignores how everyone's watching them to snuggle closer to her, her spare hand pulling Brittany's into her lap as the other wraps around her waist.

"Hi," she whispers when she hears everyone start talking again, quieter this time, so as not to scare them.

"Hey," Brittany says softly, her eyes suddenly heavy and tired. "I didn't want to play," she whispers like she needs an excuse for her actions.

Santana leans forward and presses her nose to Brittany's temple. She kisses there a second later and doesn't need to do anything else when Brittany breathes out in relief.

/

Libby kicks all of the guys' asses. It's embarrassing almost, and Santana giggles as, hand after hand, she lays down her cards to reveal yet another perfect win. She finds herself becoming more intrigued by her, proud of her, and feels vicariously awesome for knowing her. She sips on a beer and swears like a sailor when Puck tries to talk trash to her. Frank loses, mostly because he's laughing at her so hard and Santana can't stop herself from wondering what it would have been like, growing up with Libby, what her father would have turned out like, what her life had been like.

She knows that she probably would have never have been born. If her dad had never proudly followed in the footsteps of her pappy he would have never met her mom. They would never have moved to Ohio. She would have never have gone to kindergarten that day and met Brittany.

It's like Libby says: fate isn't a sure thing. It kind of makes Santana feel sick and dizzy thinking of a life where there is no Brittany.

Brittany, who is funny and quirky and makes her smile like she never knew how to do it properly before she met her. Brittany, who is adorable and beautiful and kind in all the best and worst kind of ways. Brittany, who has been the only constant and sure and certain thing in her life even when she wasn't there. Brittany, who taught her that love is worth every tiny, little, minuscule thing that scares her. Brittany, who taught her how to love, period.

It's just not worth thinking about a life without her. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel possible.

Not anymore.

She can't imagine missing moments like this, ones where Brittany is simultaneously adorable and sneaky, pushing her luck to see what happens. Santana watches her, unnoticed, as she slips a hand beneath the skirt of her dress, fingers gliding over the silky smoothness of her stockings as they cover her thighs. She tries her hardest to hide her smirk when Brittany's eyes widen as she hits skin and quickly withdraws her hand. It's really difficult because Brittany's cheeks fill with red that spreads all the way to her ears and she toys with the hem of Santana's dress again, eyes front and center because she knows Santana's caught her.

Her hand slowly drifts back until it's back on Santana's knee and Santana instinctively sinks down a little until her hand is back higher on her thigh. Brittany panics and her hand flails in the air above her skin for a moment before Santana grabs it. She bites her tongue inside her mouth as she presses Brittany's hand against her skin. Brittany grows bashful as she holds it there and Santana sinks a little lower down until she can lean in to her ear.

"You don't have to stop," she whispers. Brittany tilts her head until their noses bump and Santana hears her gulp, feels the warmth radiating off of her. Brittany looks up into her eyes through her eyelashes and then her hand is gliding back up to where stocking meets flesh. Santana lets her own hand reach to toy with the cuff of Brittany's blazer and listens to her breathing get a little unsteady when she finds the fastenings of her garter belt.

Her eyes flutter a little and a million things rush through Santana's mind as she leans further into Brittany. She relishes the way Brittany sighs as she presses a kiss to the apple of her cheek and higher, at the corner of her eye, and then the bridge of her nose.

She keeps doing it as Brittany's hand remains still on her thigh and _no_, she thinks. She wouldn't want to miss out on this for anything.

/

She's not sure how long they've been sat there but she knows that she's content to stay here for as long as Brittany wants. Her fingers stroke up and down the stretch of Brittany's forearm, from cuff to wrist, and her face happily buries into the side of Brittany's head. She's too preoccupied with the smell of Brittany's hair and how warm she is beneath her to care about anything else. That's until...

"You should take that girl to bed..."

She almost swallows her own lung. She pulls back from Brittany to look around and finds Libby and the rest staring at her with gentle, proud smiles.

"What?" she says as she feels her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Libby chuckles at her a little. "Look, sweetie..." she says softly, nodding to Brittany.

Santana turns and feels even more embarrassed when she sees that Brittany's fast asleep, her head now resting on Santana's bare shoulder. It pulls all negative feeling from within her for a second and she watches in silence as Brittany's body moves peacefully beneath her. She snuggles closer, purely out of habit, and pays no attention when someone releases a chuckle.

"Come on," she hears a second later and looks up to find Bobby hovering beside them. "I'll carry her up."

Santana doesn't argue, but the sound Brittany releases when she slowly untangles their bodies, breaks her heart a little.

/

"I told her to sleep at the airport but she was so nervous," Bobby whispers as Santana leads him upstairs, grabbing Brittany's duffle as she goes. She listens carefully, needing to know everything she missed, even if it was bad. "She just—she didn't know if you'd want her here or if she was welcome or... I don't know. She's a worrier sometimes," he groans as he rounds to the last staircase. "I don't know why I was so surprised. She didn't really sleep much while she was at home... She usually just ended up in my bed watching movies."

Santana feels like she's a little to blame for that. She bows her head as they reach the hallway on the third floor. "Her room's over here," she mumbles, reaching forward to open the door.

Bobby frowns at her. "And where's your room?" he asks with a smile.

She gestures behind him to where the door of her bedroom is still ajar from this morning. Bobby turns his head first, then his body, and Santana watches as he strides across the room, nudging it open with his foot before stepping inside. She skips after him, tossing Brittany's bag on the floor as he steps over to the bed. Santana looks up just in time to see him lower Brittany onto the mattress and for Brittany to roll over and breathe in the scent of the pillows.

Bobby tugs her back, pulling at her like she's a doll so that he can take off her jacket. He hands it to Santana and she wordlessly takes it. She's too busy watching as Brittany's body curls back into the pillows again, even when Bobby steps over and kisses her sloppily on the forehead.

"Night, Honeybee," he whispers and then Santana nods until she hears the door click as he leaves.

/

She kinda can't take her eyes off of her.

Even after a week, it feels so strange to have her laying back in her bed again. She blinks a few times, just to make sure she's seeing everything clearly and then, as the quiet rushes back into her senses, she pinches herself to make sure everything's real.

When she doesn't wake up crying or panicked or confused, she takes it as a good sign, and slips her shoes off before wandering over to the bed. She sits down by Brittany's feet and slowly reaches for them, untying the knots on her Chucks before carefully tugging them off. She stands up then and throws the shoes down with her heels before heading over to her dresser to find clothes for them to wear. She finds them both some boxers and grabs her Fleetwood Mac t-shirt, tossing them down onto the foot of the bed before sitting down at her vanity.

Her fingers work to gently pry the lily from her hair. It's a little wilted, but still looks pretty, and she sets it down carefully, wanting to keep it as long as she can. There's a million pins in her hair and she drags her fingers through it once she thinks she's got them all out, feeling it flow around her face.

Brittany's cheek is pressed into the pillow when she returns to the bed, her hand clutching it desperately. She sits back down on the edge of the bed behind her again and slowly unfastens her skirt before leaning over Brittany to whisper into her ear.

"Lift, baby," she says softly, kissing her hairline. Brittany sighs and does as she's told until the skirt is tossed aside. "Do you want shorts?" she asks softly when Brittany's legs curl up a little and she snuggles into the sheets more.

Brittany shakes her head and Santana doesn't do anything other than reach for her feet and pull them into her lap so she can take off her socks. Santana leaves them there, one of Brittany's heels nestled in her palm as she looks at her.

It still doesn't feel like it happened. She doesn't understand what this lack in her gut is, the heaviness that doesn't sit there anymore. It makes her feel a little light-headed and she sits there a little longer until she feels like she won't float away without Brittany anchoring her there.

She can't wait to just lay beside her, to just lay beside her and for everyone to know that they're up here together. She can't wait to just hold her and fall asleep with her without worrying about who might see.

She gets up and moves around to her side of the bed without thinking. She lifts the skirt of her dress around her hips as she sits down but pauses when she feels Brittany shifting closer behind her, her hands reaching up to the back of Santana's dress. Santana waits as Brittany's fingers work on the buttons, moving her hair out of the way and holding her breath. Brittany's hands push the delicate fabric aside before reaching for the zipper, inching it down as carefully as she can.

Santana lifts the dress then, tugging it over her head and tossing it over a nearby chair carelessly, her bra following moments later without a second thought. She hears a shocked gasp from behind her and covers her breasts with an arm, leaning up with the other as she looks over her shoulder to find Brittany.

She expects Brittany to be staring up at her but finds her looking at the base of her back instead.

She feels something drop inside of her with realization. It figures that they would catch her eye, that they would be the first thing she sees. Santana waits for the questions, the barrage of things she'll want to know. _Did it hurt? Are you okay? What did they do?_ She's not sure if she can answer those things but she'd do it for Brittany.

But Brittany doesn't ask anything. She doesn't even speak.

She just reaches out and lets her fingertips flutter around what Santana assumes are the edges of her bruises. Santana wonders what they look like then, what Brittany sees. She hasn't seen them yet—she doesn't really want to be reminded of it—but she wonders what they look like to Brittany. To her, they mostly just feel like a reminder of her failure, but she lets Brittany wordlessly trace them with her fingers anyway before she tugs on her shirt.

Brittany helps her, her hands reverently pulling it over her body. It's so gentle, she almost doesn't want to move.

Panic sparks in Santana little when the hands pull away and she feels the mattress shift as Brittany gets up. Her head snaps around to her, hand outstretched, and then stops when Brittany walks around to her and kneels in front of her. The panic transforms into nervousness.

"What are you doing?" Santana whispers shyly when Brittany's hands press to her knees and moves to remove her stockings.

Brittany shakes her head.

"I get to look after you now," she whispers, voice thick with determination. Santana moves her hands out of the way as Brittany slowly unfastens the attachments of her garter belt and lifts by the knee to tug the stockings from legs.

She discards them thoughtlessly before urging Santana to stand. Soft fingers pulls her garter belt and underwear down at the same time, holding her steady as she steps out of them, before grabbing the pale blue cotton boxers and pulling them up Santana's legs. The way that she deliberately forces them to sit low on Santana's hips to avoid the bruises makes her heart burst in her chest.

She urges Santana to turn and lay on her back after that, clambering over her to lay back on her own side when she is. She watches in confusion when Santana instantly rolls over to lay on her front.

Santana smiles at the look on her face and shakes it off.

"It just aches a little bit when I lay on my back, is all," she explains and Brittany gently rests her hand against the bruises so softly it might as well not be there.

She lays on her side, body as close to Santana's as possible and presses her chin to Santana's shoulder, looking at her as Santana turns her face to the side.

"This is going to sound silly," Brittany whispers, eyes fluttering over every corner of her face to make sure she's okay. They're bright blue and shiny and more awake than they were thirty minutes ago. She swallows "But, can I hold you?"

Santana smiles, feeling herself fall a little bit more in love. She shifts closer to Brittany, until their noses squash together, and nods her head. It's enough to make Brittany relax into the pillow and Santana sighs when she feels Brittany's arm tighten around her as a leg moves to drape over the backs of her knees. It's careful and warm and she feels herself instantly slipping into sleep, her eyes drooping at the comfort.

The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is Brittany whispering "I'm not hurting you, am I?" and she shakes her head thinking _no_, _not at all._

/

She doesn't know what time it is, all she knows is that she was sleeping well for the first time in days and now she isn't. It confuses her a little, because she can't figure out why, but then her eyes flutter open a little and she remembers. It's because Brittany's there with her.

Brittany's there with her and she's sleeping beside her.

Except, somehow, in the hours that they've been asleep, she's managed to turn herself away from Santana so that Santana's spooning her, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other curled above their heads on the pillow.

And, now, she's fussing against her, jostling her awake and Santana's not entirely sure why.

That's until she leans up and sees the problem.

Brittany's arm lays outstretched across the pillow, fingers scrunching into the sheets as she searches for the person who isn't sleeping in the empty space beside her.

Santana's heart sinks when she guesses that that person is probably her. She's the one who's making Brittany feel so lost and frantic. She's the one who's left her with doubt and she blinks away further guilt and misery and does what she should have done all those days ago on the day Brittany left.

She fixes it.

She reaches for the hand scrunched in the sheets and strokes it until it loosens its grasp. She offers up her own, palm out for Brittany to take, and then wraps it back around her, close to her chest, when she does. Santana can tell the moment when Brittany wakes up. She jolts a little and takes a big breath, her grip tightening.

Santana feels her shivering with confusion, quivering with it as she clutches her closer. She shifts until her cheek is pressed against Brittany's hair and presses kisses behind her ear as she drapes a leg over the long ones hers are tangled with. Brittany's breathing grows unsteady and Santana waits, fingers locked in hers, for her to calm down and force away her sleepy confusion. It takes a while though and when she feels Brittany begin to shudder with tears she just clutches her closer and soothes her.

She's not sure what she's done wrong.

It confuses her a little when Brittany begins to whimper that she's sorry between her sobs. Her eyes go wide and she squeezes at Brittany's hand hoping she'll look at her. She's relieved when Brittany just slowly turns in her arms to find her and pushes up on her knees to give her room. Her hand presses to the top of Brittany's head, stroking the hair from her face, while the other holds herself up. Brittany's hands wrap into her t-shirt with terror and Santana is quiet as she shudders more, face soaked with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whimpers some more, her lips parted and quivering as she sucks in much needed breath. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Santana shakes her head and waits. She strokes her hand from the top of Brittany's head to her cheek and wipes away some of her tears with her fingers before wiping them on the pillow beside her head. She stops when Brittany's eyes snap sadly to hers, wide awake and a little broken, and finds herself unable to look away after that.

"I thought..." Brittany whispers. "I thought I dreamed it..." she hiccups. "I thought I dreamed it again..." Santana listens carefully, confused. "I thought that I was—that I was still at home and that you still didn't want me." She sobs again and Santana hates it. She never wants to hear that noise again. "I kept—I kept having dreams..." she tries to explain through choked out tears. "I kept having dreams and—and I I couldn't change it... I couldn't get you to stay with me... I didn't—I didn't get to wake up to you..."

Her eyes close, tight and adamant as harder sobs choke from her. There's something else in her face then and Santana recognizes it as embarrassment. It makes her angry because Brittany should never have to be embarrassed for that. Ever.

"I'm sorry," she manages to get out a minute later. "I'm sorry... I'm just really tired. I haven't been sleeping and I'm just... I'm just..."

"No," Santana breathes out gently. She doesn't want to scare her. "No," she repeats. "You don't have to be sorry for that. I should be sorry."

Brittany shakes her head.

"Yeah," Santana disagrees. "I should be sorry. I should be sorry but I want you to know..." she brings her hand to Brittany's cheek and strokes underneath her eye until they both flutter open. "I want you to know that from now on, you don't have to worry about that." Her voice cracks a little and a tear rolls over the curve of her own cheek before she can blink it back. "Because, if what you've told me is true, and you want to be with me, if you want to come home to me every day..." She pauses because it's still too impossible to be real. "If I'm the person you want to fall asleep with then I'll be there when you wake up. Every day. I promise."

Brittany looks at her, disbelief parting her lips and hope sparkling in her eyes.

"Yeah?" she manages on a breath. It sounds more like a gasp.

Santana nods quickly. "Yeah," she whispers, earnestly.

Brittany blinks and her head tilts on the pillow a little. "Every day?" she breathes like she doesn't want to say it too loud, just in case.

Santana doesn't answer her straight away. Instead, she lowers her body until they're pressed together, until her thighs straddle Brittany's, until their stomachs and their chests and their chins are pressed together. She can feel Brittany's pulse against her and worms an arm underneath Brittany's neck as the other holds her cheek. Brittany's arms wrap around her and their lips brush as she speaks.

"Every damn day," she whispers. "Every damn day for the rest of my life if you want me to."

Brittany's eyes go dark and something changes. Her lips part as she nods her head and her body shifts beneath Santana's, desperate and longing. Santana breathes in at all of it, at the nod of her head and the new-old need in her eyes. Her hands scrunch so hard into the back of Santana's t-shirt it rises up enough for her spine to prickle with goosebumps. She shivers against her a little, her own mouth parting as her eyes flutter closed.

Something washes over her quickly and her body turns to liquid, melting even as she holds them together. Brittany pants desperately for more breath, her chin tilting back as her body presses up into Santana as much as it can. Santana nuzzles forward a little, shifting until her forehead touches Brittany's lips. She kisses it tenderly, a hand drifting steadily up Santana's back to grasp at her shoulders.

She just wants to stay this close to her forever.

She doesn't even realize she's moved and they're kissing until a broken little moan leaves Brittany's mouth. It's nothing like she's ever experienced.

She's not afraid. She's not worried. She's not hurting. There's nothing to prove.

She just _wants _her. She just _loves _her. It's so pure, so addictive, that she begins to shake like it's a drug she's been denied for too long. She kisses her harder, fiercer, soaking in what it feels like to kiss her without everything in the way, without her brain being somewhere else, somewhere far away and distant. Brittany just clings to her like she's a buoy, like she'll keep her above water, _breathing_.

She pulls back, just to look at her face, her heavy eyes, and feels her body buckle with its need for her.

"Kiss me..." she breathes, even though their mouths are already fluttering against each other. Brittany tilts her chin to capture her mouth anyway, nodding and holding her close, hand slipping off her shoulders to tangle in her hair. She guides Santana to where she wants her all of a sudden, urging her with a hand at the back of her neck, and strokes at her scalp. Santana whimpers and opens her mouth wider, sucking Brittany's tongue between her lips to taste sleep and leftover sweetness from champagne.

She wants to taste everything, feel everything and the best part is that she doesn't have to rush. There are no walls to put up and no worries to run away from. A smile teases at her lips and she pulls away to let it grow, letting it get even bigger when she sees Brittany's eyes flutter open and return it. She pulls Santana back quickly, kisses into the smile and steals it from her to leave her breathless.

Her hands scoops Santana's hair atop her head out of the way and Santana groans into the crook of Brittany's neck when Brittany slides wet, open-mouthed, promising kisses from her mouth to her shoulder. Lips attach to her neck seconds later, occupied with sucking at Santana's pulse. Santana moans carelessly, her hand clutching the sheets beside Brittany's head and holds on. Her knuckles turn white when Brittany wriggles one leg from beneath her own and wraps it around, pulling her closer. She can feel everything and she pants for breath as Brittany kisses desperately.

She doesn't understand why that, for someone who's being so incredibly confident, Brittany's shaking like a leaf in winter wind. Santana kisses over her cheek until she gets to her ear and is surprised at how strange her voice sounds when she speaks.

"You're shaking," she whispers, attention momentarily caught with drawing the lobe of Brittany's ear into her mouth.

Brittany moans breathlessly and Santana feels her nails scratch over her neck softly, urging her closer.

"So are you," she whispers and Santana kisses her as she realizes she's right.

She's shaking, quivering and she doesn't understand why. She feels like, with this new information, with this certainty, she should be the opposite. She should feel sure and confident in everything but her body doesn't get that like her head does. Her body just wants Brittany, just wants her closer, wants to feel every inch of her, misses her.

Brittany's body must want that too because Santana feels her shaking hands tugging at the bottom of her shirt, losing focus with each kiss that goes deeper than before. Soon, she gives up on it, choosing to bury her fingers beneath the fabric, palms flat as she pulls Santana to her but Santana pulls away to lean up on her elbow to look at her.

She blinks at Brittany in a daze, trying to think of words to say to explain what she wants, but doesn't have to as Brittany looks back at her. She understands immediately. Her hands are so gentle that Santana almost tells her to stop. She lifts Santana's shirt inch by inch until her skin is revealed, until goosebumps litter between her shoulder blades, and untangles it from her hair. Brittany reaches to wrap her fingers back in Santana's hair and kisses along her hairline as Santana reaches for Brittany's shirt. She pushes it up and struggles to breathe, struggles to remain upright until Brittany reaches to take it off for her.

Her mouth descends on the skin as it's revealed, face buried into the curves and hollows of Brittany's chest, until Brittany fumbles at the kisses being sucked against her neck. Santana reaches to help her then, pushing the shirt over her head until blond hair litters the pillow.

Brittany smiles at her in thanks and she returns it, memorizes it, as hands move to the back of her head. Brittany goes where she wants her, tilting her head to the side until Santana can venture kisses as far around her neck as possible before discovering the smooth curve of her shoulder. A tongue swipes into the dip between her collarbones and up the other side. She sighs as Santana goes, fingers flexing against her scalp to urge her on.

Her forehead, her nose, mouth, her chin, all fit themselves into the groves of Brittany's neck and shoulder, kissing her as much as possible as a hand drifts down her side to pull a thigh back around her hip. Brittany grunts as it pushes their pelvises closer, rocks into her for a few off-kilter moments where Santana almost gives up on her quiet intent to worship her in favor of rocking into her until she falls off the edge.

"More," Brittany rasps out when she begins to slow but Santana shakes her head and pulls back, kissing her lips after too long spent away from her mouth. She looks at her instead and Brittany frowns breathlessly. "What's wrong?" she gasps.

Santana shakes her head again and then kisses her, softer and sweeter, in a way that doesn't fit with the positioning of the rest of their bodies, their naked skin. It does just what she wants it to, though, and, when she pulls back, Brittany looks drunk on her, her body slumping as Santana's tongue traces her lips.

It makes how she slowly begins to drift down Brittany's body easier, makes hands grip tighter. She runs her tongue and peppers her lips over Brittany's skin, down her shoulders and to her wrists before moving back again to repeat the actions with the other arm. She guides Brittany's hands to the sheets either side of her body and Brittany scrunches her hands into them straight away, not arguing when Santana's body is hovering over hers, when she's kissing her everywhere. Her palms press to Brittany's stomach as she pays equal attention to each breast, licking and sucking and kissing with as much love as she can muster.

Brittany squirms and tries to part her legs wider, letting one fall from around Santana's waist. Santana pulls it back though, loving how it makes her feel closer to her, how Brittany squeezes her nearer when something feels especially good. She pants out and Santana takes a glance up at her, hair, wild and wavy on the pillow, her eyes dark and desperate. She smirks against the bottom of her breast bone, into the soft patch of skin where her ribs fan out, and sucks a kiss there that leaves Brittany's back arching into her mouth.

"Touch me," Brittany begs and one hand fumbles to grip at Santana's shoulder, to pull her back to her mouth. Santana refuses it and takes the hand, putting it back on the mattress.

"I don't want to do that," she sighs into her skin, appreciating Brittany's whimper. "Not yet."

Instead, she kisses lower, lips and tongue and teeth nipping over the flat plane of her stomach as she urges her hips up. Santana reaches down into the back of Brittany's underwear, curving them around her ass as she pushes them down. Brittany whimpers at the loss of contact when Santana pulls back to take them from her body, but watches as Santana kneels up to do the same with the last piece of clothing left between them. Her chest heaves and when Santana moves back to kiss her roughly, she doesn't complain. She just listens when Santana kisses her ear and breathes against it.

"I want to taste you again," she whispers softly. "I waited so long and then I never thought I'd get to do it," she admits. Brittany whimpers and her body jerks a little. It makes Santana sad almost, that it probably isn't going to take very long. She strokes her fingers over Brittany's thigh. "I _really _want to do it again," she sighs trying not to sound to desperate. Her head is already spinning. "Is that okay?"

Brittany's chest just heaves a little more and Santana takes that as her answer.

She kisses her everywhere again, just because she wants to revel in the feel of her, the sight of her, the smell of her and the noises she makes. She's so warm, burning, and Santana darts out her tongue so soothe the heat as she makes her way back down her body.

When she's close enough to press her cheek between Brittany's hips, her eyes flutter closed and she takes a moment, just to trace her fingers down the outside of Brittany's thigh to her knee. Brittany shudders at it, so she repeats the same path with kisses and it makes her relax then, steady with anticipation. Her legs fall open and her eyes flutter closed as Santana kisses the inner seam of one thigh, walking her fingers up the other, higher and higher until—

"Please, baby," Brittany whimpers and the word is so rushed, so sudden, that she almost doesn't hear it. Santana stops in shock, pulling back too quickly and leaving a hickey in her wake.

She gulps and kisses the bruised spot softly, head fuzzy and full of love. "Say that again," she whispers, a little choked up. She gets it now, why it made Brittany so dazed. It kind of makes Santana feel like she might be the most precious thing in the world.

Brittany's flutter open but she doesn't look at her. She gulps. "Please," she whispers and her cheeks blush impossibly pink.

"Please what?" Santana whispers, cheek pressed to her thigh, staring up to her. Brittany gulps nervously. She thinks she's said the wrong thing. Santana kisses her knee, long and hard. "Say it," she begs. "Say it again."

Brittany whimpers and looks down at her. "Please, baby," she breathes, eyes fluttering. "Please, don't stop."

Santana shakes her head adamantly and kisses more purposefully. She darts her way up to the apex of Brittany's thighs, to where she's wet and warm and intoxicating, and hums out a groan.

"I'm never going to stop," she whispers throatily and then her mouth is on her, tasting the one thing she never thought she'd taste again.

/

Her mouth works against her with no intentions other than to taste her and have her overwhelm her senses. She tastes just how Santana remembered, just how she would recall when she swallowed at the memory of it. She gasps against her, the echoes of Brittany's whimpers in her ears better than any cry she released last time.

They're quiet and just for her and for her alone, quiet thanks and begs that tell Santana to keep going.

And she does, even after Brittany comes the first time, body tensing silently and barely relaxing before Santana is on her again, licking and sucking and pulling things from her that she's never wanted from anyone else, things like need and desperation, want and hunger. Brittany whimpers her name, calls her _Santana, Baby_ like she's been doing it ever since they met.

(Maybe she has. Santana knows that she'd silently beg _Brittany, Baby, please _in her head before she ever said it out loud. Maybe Brittany did too.

She hopes she did.)

Brittany comes a second time with Santana's hands pushing her legs wider, her tongue buried inside of her and her own moans vibrating against Brittany's softness. Brittany tugs her hair onto the top of her head after that, holds her head still as she bucks into her face in a way that makes Santana want to growl with arousal and pin her hips to the bed afterward with an arm thrown over her pelvis as her left hand comes up to join her mouth.

When she comes again, it's with Santana's tongue lapping at her clit and her fingers inside of her. The fourth time comes so quickly it might not even be the fourth at all and Santana looks up when Brittany starts laughing, except it doesn't sound like a laugh. It's some ridiculous mix between laughing and crying and when Santana goes to descend her mouth on her again she actually does chuckle a little and tell her not to, pulling her back to her mouth and kissing herself from Santana's lips.

"You're good at that," she whispers gently against her mouth and then Santana turns her head as she draws Santana's fingers into her mouth to clean them. It makes her quake with the need for release but Brittany's hand stroking through her hair feels too good to pull away.

It's the best of both worlds when Brittany just rolls them to their sides and continues stroking her hair before trailing her other hand down her side. Santana takes a deep breath as Brittany draws her thigh up over her hip, slick with sweat and moisture, before reaching down between her legs.

Santana's head falls back as two fingers ease inside of her without preamble and her hips begin a slow and steady pump into them with the rhythm of Brittany's movements. Brittany smiles at her and sucks at her bottom lip, her jaw, as Santana stares into her eyes, feeling like she's falling into them when she get gets pushed off the edge.

"Again," she has no fears asking once her heart rate has slowed but Brittany's still buried to the hilt inside of her.

Brittany just nods and starts moving inside of her, telling her how beautiful she is as Santana clutches at her, pulling her closer.

She never wants to stop doing this.

It's with disbelief that she realizes she doesn't have to.

/

"What time is it?"

Santana pulls back from where her mouth is pressed low on Brittany's pelvis and takes a moment to try and figure out if she can tell, just from the way the light hits Brittany's skin. She figures it's still kind of early because it's making her look ethereal, like some sort of angel, and she's glowing from the low embers of release that still burn in her stomach.

She could look at the clock but Brittany's soft and supple underneath her and it doesn't seem worth the turn of her head.

Instead, she shrugs and leans down to graze her teeth over the protrusion of Brittany's hip, kissing there after.

Brittany giggles, throaty and tired. Santana smiles as she shifts a little, knowing that it tickles. That's why she does it again, her fingers drumming in the same spot on the other hip.

"You're impossible," Brittany giggles and if she was exhausted before, she definitely is now. Her body lays limp, horizontal against the foot of the bed. With her head hanging back over the side of the bed, she silently looks out at the barely-there view of the ocean that can be seen beyond the balcony.

Santana traces a heart with her nose on Brittany's skin. "I think you mean awesome," she mumbles.

It makes Brittany giggle some more. "That too," she whispers and her leg shifts until her foot presses against Santana's thigh. She holds a hand to the top of her breast as she leans up a little to look down at her. The other pushes Santana's hair from her face so that she can see her, still kissing her abdomen like she's been doing for the past half hour. "You're kind of obsessed with that, huh?" she teases, finger curving over Santana's cheek. "I think you missed me."

Santana nods at that, her nose stroking in a way that makes the muscles tighten. She does it again, kissing them when they flutter visibly. "Mhm," she whispers. "I did."

The muscles tighten again, but not because Santana's touching them. She presses her cheek to them anyway and listens to Brittany breathe, soft and steady and sure. Brittany quietly plays with her hair.

"I missed you," Brittany whispers and her voice is timid, like the words she's about to say are heavy and she's struggling with the weight of them. "Being in Lima isn't the same without you... it was kind of scary."

Santana reaches up until she can press her hand against Brittany's tummy beside her cheek, her thumb rubbing steadily. Brittany goes on and her stomach muscles tighten again but they don't loosen; they stay that way like they're waiting for something before they let go. Brittany's voice changes because of it.

"Like, I was sitting there and it was like nothing felt right," she whispers. "Like, the air was too dusty and it was like I couldn't breathe and the sun wasn't the right color yellow so I didn't want to see it. I missed you and I missed the sunshine here and I missed the sea air and how it makes your hair go extra curly and smell good." Her fingers toy with the ends of her hair. Santana feels her shift awkwardly. "Do you—do you think that's what it'll be like in California?"

And there is it, the punch line, the important part. Santana presses her cheek further into Brittany's skin and takes a deep breath. "Why do you ask, Britt Britt?" she whispers.

Brittany takes a deep breath. Her stomach feels as hard as a rock. "Because... because..." Santana feels her shift some more, her muscles quivering. Her hand strokes over the soft spot at the back of Santana's skull. "Because I'd like to go with you... and find out."

Brittany actually jolts, shudders, when Santana quickly pulls away from her. Her eyes go wide and terrified and her hands flail in the air. Santana takes both of them shifting until she can rope one around her shoulders and tangle her fingers in the other. Brittany relaxes but not enough, not even when Santana rests her head on her shoulder and presses her nose against the join of Brittany's jaw.

"You'd go to California with me?" Santana asks softly. Brittany grips her her fingers tighter and nods. She looks terrified. Santana watches her wearily. She lifts Brittany's hand until it curls above her, both their hands tucked onto her shoulder. "Why?"

Brittany's eyes flutter, sparkling with tears. Santana can just see how _hard _she's trying. She's seen that look before, painted on Brittany's face when she asked her to talk about feelings. It's worse now. Things mean more than that now but Brittany's not used to being the kind of person selfish enough to ask for the things she really wants.

Santana wants her to be.

"Because."

Santana groans lowly and shifts closer to her. "Britt Britt," she warns.

Brittany blinks. "Because—because..." she sniffs a little and shakes her head. "I don't want to learn who I'd be without you," she says in a whisper. Santana moves closer. "Because I don't want to know what my life would be like without you in it every day and I just..."

Santana smiles a little. "Is that why you avoided me when you found out about Stanford?" Santana asks.

Brittany nods. "I just—I just... I felt silly because I never thought you'd want to leave me behind," she shakes her head. "Even though I was so sure that you'd figure me out one day or something," she shakes her head. "I still always thought it would be me and you, wherever we go. Even if you were with someone else or, I don't know... I don't know... And then you were going to California and you didn't ask me to come with you and I just... I thought it would be easier if I pulled away. I thought I'd miss you less but I—but I can't..."

Santana leans up on her elbow to look at her, breathes unsteadily in at the desperate need on Brittany's face. She rolls away from her without a second thought. She just needs that face to never be in front of her eyes again. She needs to remove it from her permanently so it never comes back. Brittany flinches and Santana can feel blue eyes on her as she fumbles around in the night stand, taking out the old cigar box and opening it. She finds what she need quickly before moving back to Brittany, leaning up on an elbow to look down at her.

"I don't want you to come to California with me," she says plainly, nervously.

She's unprepared for the way that Brittany's face falls instantly a tear rolling down her cheek. She pushes forward quickly, nodding and shaking her head at the same time disappointment and sadness become the only discernible emotions on her face.

"Okay," she whispers and chokes in a breath. "Can I ask why not?"

Santana shrugs and she reaches for the space between their bodies where she put the things she needs for this. "Because I want you to follow your dreams," she explains and she presses the folded printed out pieces of paper onto Brittany's stomach for her to look at.

Brittany looks down at them before reaching for them wearily, eyes still messy with tears. She says nothing as she picks them up, looks almost reluctant as she unfolds them sheepishly and then breathes out in disbelief when she sees what's written on them. She shakes her head straight away and tries to force them back at Santana.

"No, _no_," she whispers. "I can't... no, Santana," she says woefully. "I can't do that. I can't."

"_Yes_, you can," Santana tells her, leaning into her. "You can do anything you want to, but this especially. You're kind of made to do this."

Brittany breathes out and tears roll down her cheeks. She shakes her head again and nuzzles into the nose that presses to her cheek.

"But, Santana..." she sighs and then her hand reaches up for Santana's cheek. "You'd be so far away," she whispers.

That makes Santana smile. "You could do it anyway," she says just as quietly. "But you don't have to worry about that."

Brittany pouts. "Yes, I do. I love you."

Santana smirks, proud and happy and hopeful. "Do you want to hear a secret?" she says softly. Brittany looks at her like she's being ridiculous. Santana smiles and then kisses her cheek. "Do you?"

She's glad when Brittany nods.

"I... never applied to Stanford," Santana says carefully, shaking her head. Brittany frowns. "There's no official thing. My parents dragged me to dinner with this old alumni guy and I didn't realize it was happening until I got this letter with the Stanford logo in the corner saying that they'd be _glad to help me in any way they could _in applying," she laughs. "I had no control over it. I had a stack of college brochures of all the best colleges and it was around the time that you started dating Artie and I just didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to pick and they were pressuring me, and my abuela was there because it was Thanksgiving and she just asked me where I wanted to go like that was the only thing I needed to worry about." Brittany frowns confused. Santana laughs. "I told her I didn't know but she could see me lying from a mile away. Always could. Coaxed it out of me then and there."

"Santana..."

"I want to go to the University of Miami," Santana cuts through her quickly and Brittany's expression widens. "Always have, since I was a little kid. It's where my abuelo went and where my abuela trained to be a nurse and I just... That's where I want to go." Her face falls a little then and she swallows back her own tears. "I wanted to go there even more when I saw how awesome their marine biology program was," she chokes and her hand falls to cover the papers still resting on Brittany's stomach. "Because, even when I was freaking eight years-old and wearing my 'Canes jersey, I never planned to leave you behind. Not ever."

Brittany's dumbfounded. She just looks at Santana like she's not really there, or she's imagining it until Santana leans down and kisses her quickly to remind her that she isn't. Brittany blinks and shakes her head a little, mouth opening and closing in confusion.

"There's something else, though," she whispers and she doesn't know why it's so important. She guesses it isn't, she's just... She's still trying to get her head around it and sometimes, when that happens, all it takes is Brittany to set her straight. Her face falls.

Brittany takes a deep breath, like it might be bad. "What?"

Santana reaches her hand to stroke at Brittany's cheek. "After my abuela managed to get it out of me that that's where I want to go, she made fill in these forms and write these letters so that I'd have a better chance, except..." Santana pauses. "I threw it in the trash." Brittany's brow furrows. "I got scared again," she says softly. "I didn't even want to think about going there unless you were coming too, so I just... I stopped."

Blue eyes grow a little darker as Brittany tries to think, worrying over everything in her head.

"Oh," she nods and Santana's glad that there's a little bit of disappointment there. "Can—can you not still apply this year?"

Santana bites back her smile. "Yeah..." she whispers. "But don't worry about it."

Brittany grips at her hand and kisses her palm quickly. "Santana, I don't understand. You're scaring me. What are you trying to say?"

Santana just passes her another piece of paper. Brittany takes a deep breath before opening it. When she does open it, she does it slowly. Santana watches her read it again, just for good measure and then— "You got in?" she says slowly, her head turns quickly. "What? How did you get in if you didn't apply?"

Santana shrugs like it's nothing. "Abuela," she whispers.

"Applied for you?"

"Found the stuff I tossed before she went back home and sent it anyway," she whispers proudly. "At least, that's what she said in the letter she sent me." She's glad Brittany asks no questions about that. "She said that I was stupid and I needed to stop being so scared all the time and that I needed to stop running away. She said that I'd never be happy otherwise." She glances at Brittany. "I can see her point," she whispers and then shrugs it off. "And I mean... I haven't really _got in. _Not yet. There's still a ton of stuff I need to do but..."

"They want you," Brittany whispers, her eyes littering over the letter again. There's something growing there, hidden behind trepidation and Santana can see that it's her last hurdle.

"Come with me," she breathes before she can stop herself. It's the only card she has left to show.

Brittany sighs hopelessly, even as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. Santana doesn't like it. She doesn't like insecurity. She throws a leg over her hips and hovers over her, pressing their foreheads together, determined and scared at the same time. She's desperate when one of her hands comes up to cup Brittany's cheek, holding her there so she can't look away.

"Come with me," she whispers, begs almost, but she doesn't care. This is all she's wanted since she was eight years old or maybe even younger. This is all she's wanted and she's so close to having it she doesn't care what she has to do. It doesn't seem so far away. Any struggles they might have don't feel like they'd be any harder than taking a steep walk up a hill. "Please come with me, Britt Britt. Please."

Brittany's face falls. "Santana..." she whispers, arms wrapping around her. She doesn't sound convinced. Santana clutches her cheeks desperately but Brittany shakes her head. "I'm not smart enough, Santana..." she whispers.

Santana shakes her head adamantly. "Bullshit," she whispers. "You're the smartest person I know."

She's glad that makes Brittany smile, if only for a second. Santana clutches her tighter, eyes flickering all over her face in desperation.

"Please, Britt," she breathes and her voice hitches. "Please."

Brittany looks up at her through her eyelashes. "Why?"

Santana speaks without even thinking because it's the easiest thing in the world. It has always been the easiest and most obvious thing in the world.

"Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you," she says hurriedly and then her breath gives up on her a little. "I could swill you some trash about how I couldn't live without you but it's not true." Brittany's brow furrows. "It's not. I could live without you. I could. It's a fact. It's science. But that isn't the point. It's the fact that I _don't want to_. I don't want to do any of this without you. I could go off to college and then I could wait some more to start my life with you but what is the damn point in that? What's the damn point? I could become a doctor anywhere. I could. I could go to Stanford, I could go to freaking Washington, I could go to the freaking other side of the world if I wanted to be a doctor that badly, but I don't. I want to be with you that badly," she sighs out.

Brittany takes a deep breath and her eyes soften like she's seeing her for the first time all over again.

"I just... I saw you," she whispers. "I saw you that day when we were kids and you told me you wanted to be a marine biologist and I just knew, I just knew..."

"Knew what?"

"That I didn't care what I did unless I knew that you were happy," she breathes. "I just knew. And you're right, I believe in you. I believe that you can do anything. You wanna dance for the rest of your life? Fine. We'll do it. You want us to get dead end jobs and just _be_ together. Perfect. But I saw that joy in your face when you swam with those dolphins and I meant it. You can do anything and I want to be there to see it, okay? So just... come with me to Miami. Be a marine biologist and believe in both of us."

Brittany pulls her closer, hands on her cheeks until she can press their lips together. She sighs against her and shakes her head.

"But what if I can't get in and I disappoint you?" she says quietly, secretly. "What if I promise to come with you and then something happens and I get stuck somewhere without you? I don't want to let you down."

Santana pulls her forward and kisses her hard and fast, mouth open and certain against hers. "The only way that you could ever let me down is if you didn't even try," she whispers. "But think about it Britt Britt. Don't you think it would be worth it? Just to try? To take the risk? We can spend our lives together..."

Just saying it out loud makes Santana's breath hitch. She's relieved it makes Brittany's breath hitch too.

"You—you really think I can do it?" Brittany whispers.

Santana nods her head. "I know you can do anything," she breathes and it's so close now she can feel it. She can _feel _it. "I know it."

Brittany tilts her head back and then nods.

Santana's eyes widen, a smile blooming on her face. "Yeah?" she asks.

Brittany nods and a smile, just as wide as her own, breaks through the insecurity.

"Yeah," she repeats and then Santana's kissing her as she tries to speak, as she laughs fondly at her reaction. Brittany pushes her back and holds her close, nodding. "Okay. Let's spend our lives together."

Santana sobs but she's never been happier.

/

Brittany pinches her. It makes her yelp.

She rolls off of her so that she can rub the spot on the back of her arm where she's seen Brittany pinch her brother a million times before. It really fucking _hurts_ and she looks at Brittany in shock as she tries to make the sting go away, her eyes wide as Brittany rolls over and leans up on her arm beside her.

"What the heck was that for?" she asks and she wants to be angry but she's kind of just really hurt that Brittany would pinch her.

Brittany shakes her head fondly with a goofy little smile on her face. She leans to brush the tip of her nose over Santana's quickly before kissing it.

"I was getting sick of that look on your face," Brittany whispers.

Santana frowns with curiosity. "What look?"

Brittany brings a hand up and taps her on the cheek. "That look," she says softly.

That makes Santana smile. "Would you be willing to explain this look so I can do something about it so you don't pinch me again?"

Brittany shakes it off. "The pinch wasn't for my benefit; it was for yours," she says softly. "You look as confused as Finn," she giggles. "Your brain is working so hard I can hear it whirring and I guessed that you were probably wondering if this is all real because I've been thinking the same thing. That's why I pinched you. It seemed like more fun than pinching myself and I was totally right."

Her smile grows mischievous and Santana pouts at the same time that she tries not to smirk at how adorable Brittany is. She continues to rub her arm and takes the sudden littering of kisses that Brittany covers her face with happily. Her nose scrunches when Brittany sucks a kiss to the tip of it and Santana does as she's told when Brittany taps her on the elbow. She allows herself to be guided onto her front and shivers a little when Brittany kisses over the same place she pinched.

"Sorry," she whispers once she's laved her tongue over the spot too. Open-mouthed kisses linger up and over her shoulder and then Santana shivers when a nose traces patterns down her spine. She curls her arms up around her head to lean on and waits as Brittany makes aimless patterns over the skin of her back with her mouth. It feels nice and she sighs out happily when Brittany kisses the back of her neck. "It is real, though, right?" Brittany whispers in her ear.

Santana lets her eyes flutter back open and turns her head a little more.

"It feels real," she shrugs.

Brittany rests her cheek between her shoulder blades.

"That's what makes me think it isn't," she says. Santana nods and her eyes close again when the backs of Brittany's fingers reach to stroke from the elbow she's resting on, all the way down her arm, her shoulder, over her ribcage before lingering back over the base of her back. "You feel too real all of a sudden. Everything feels completely real and... possible..."

A hand curves over Santana's ass to her thigh and her breath hitches as it crawls back up the inside and fails to pause as fingers instantly toy between her legs. She feels herself lurch forward at the feel of it.

She lets herself fall into the sensation for a moment, hips twitching as she gets used to the overwhelming feel of it teamed with Brittany's words. It's pathetic how easily pliant she becomes, how with a kiss between her shoulder blades Santana lets Brittany worm a hand underneath her. Brittany rolls them back onto their sides, an arm over her breasts as she weighs one in her hand.

Brittany moves to kiss her neck and Santana kicks at the sheet wrapped around their legs. It's not enough and Brittany's smile against her ear, her fingers rolling over a nipple, is excruciating in the best way. She breathes out and shudders.

"It feels nice..." Brittany starts but Santana nods before she can finish. It makes Brittany giggle against her ear. "It feels nice," she tries again, "being sure."

She doesn't argue when Santana takes her hand from behind her and draws it around her hip. Brittany rubs at her clit the minute that Santana guides it there and everything feels so tangible that it's overwhelming.

"I've been sure that I'll love you forever for a really long time," Brittany mumbles and Santana doesn't know if she's trying to distract her from the words she's saying or trying to remind her how true they are. Santana grips at Brittany's wrist to keep her where she is regardless, the other hand reaching behind her to find Brittany's ass, her shoulder and just keep her there. "But it's nice..." Brittany whispers. "Being sure that I'll have you forever too." She giggles. Santana wants her to get her head in the game at the same time that she doesn't want her to ever stop talking. "I can feel it. Can you feel it?" she whispers. Santana moans. It's enough for Brittany. "Me and you, forever and ever and ever."

Santana's orgasm catches her off guard, the force of it shocking and intense in a way that has her eyelids wide open as they roll back into her head.

Brittany reaches up to tilt her head to kiss her without another word.

"Did you hear me?" she whispers against her lips.

Santana nods. She kisses Brittany breathlessly, sucking on her bottom lip as she steals the truth from them, as precious and pure as liquid gold.

"Forever and ever and ever," she repeats. Brittany nods and doesn't need to say anything else.

/

They fall asleep sometime around noon but Santana wakes up an hour or so later and just lays with Brittany, content to watch her sleep. Brittany wakes up a few hours later, when the sun is warm and burnt into the sky, and her eyes are barely open when she's rolling them over so she can snuggle into Santana's neck.

"Morning, baby," she says, light and breathy and perfect.

Santana pushes blond hair from her face and chuckles. "I think it's still daytime," she says softly and presses kisses to her forehead until Brittany shifts to find her mouth. She kisses her quickly and then watches as Brittany licks her lips afterward. "Did you have a nice sleep?" Brittany nods. "That's good. I thought you were."

Brittany smiles at that. "Did you watch me sleep?" she asks. Santana's only response is to kiss her nose. "Creeper," she whispers with a teasing smile.

Santana rubs the sleep from Brittany's eyes as gently as she can, her fingers soft and careful. Brittany juts her chin out to help her.

"You're cute when you're asleep," Santana admits. "Watching you sleep has been one of my favorite things to do forever."

"It has?" Brittany asks, her eyes fluttering open a little. Santana nods and they close again.

"Mhm," she says. "It was the only time I got to look at you enough."

Her cheeks pink a little but it's worth the crack in her voice when Brittany pulls her closer and snuggles deeper. She doesn't know whether she's glad or disappointed when someone knocks on the door. She just pulls Brittany closer to her and tries to grab the sheets.

"Who is it?" she calls, struggling, glad when Brittany just scratches her ear and then grabs them for her. Santana tucks them around them and listens carefully, glad when she hears one of the few voices she could handle right now.

"It's me," Bobby says and he sounds exhausted. "Can I come in? Are you decent?"

Santana falters a little. Does naked but for a sheet and a blanket made of his sister count as decent?

"Not really," Brittany grumbles a moment later, answering for them. "But I'm not getting dressed or getting up so make your choice, Pierce." Santana buries her nose into the top of Brittany's head to hide her smile. "You can come in and maybe see more than you want to or leave. Leaving would be nice."

Santana swats at her backside with the arm wrapped around her. Brittany's sleepy laugh is the best thing in the world.

"Come in, Bobby," she says around a chuckle.

It turns into a proper full-bodied laugh when the first thing Bobby says, as he wanders through the threshold, is, "Your friends argue a lot."

Neither of them says anything when he flops down onto his back at the foot of the bed, although Santana does clutch the covers up around her chest a little tighter.

"What are they doing now?"

Bobby doesn't answer right away. Santana leans up a little to see him snuggling into the softness of the mattress and groaning at what she assumes is pain in his back.

"That tall guy..." he says eventually. "The really unnaturally tall one who keeps glaring at the really nice guy with the blond hair, is getting really, really insistent that everyone leaves in like... the next twenty minutes. Shit, is this mattress like really good or is that couch in the second floor living room made of knives or something?"

"You slept on the couch?" Santana asks at the same time that Brittany sniggers and says, "Deal with it."

Bobby looks hurt and flicks the bottom of Brittany's foot. "I got you here, didn't I?" he says with a scoff.

Brittany turns to him and grins. It takes away the grumpiness from him instantly. He flicks her foot again except he throws his arm over both of their ankles afterward.

"So what's happening?" Santana asks once they've both settled down.

Bobby doesn't look up at them. "Oh, they're arguing about when they should leave. Yeah, the tall kid seems to have like... convinced half of them that everyone should be leaving now that, well..." he pauses to rub Santana's ankle. "...well, now that your grandmother's funeral is over." Brittany reaches up to kiss her cheek quickly. She manages to smile. "Anyway, he seems to have this weird... leader... thing going on. I don't know, but he's fought with at least four people in the last couple of hours and it's making me dizzy."

"That happens," Brittany giggles. "Who wants to stay and who wants to go?"

"Artie and Quinn are pretty determined, and the blond guy and... Rachel, is it?" They both nod. "Everyone else is kind of indifferent but I just wanted to come up here to let you know that I actually _do _need to get going."

Santana feels Brittany sit up quickly and grapples for the sheet to make sure that it covers both of them. She sits up and presses her chest against Brittany's back, her chin on her shoulder as she watches Brittany look down at Bobby in a panic.

"We can't go!" she says quickly, voice tripping over itself. Santana wraps an arm around her as quickly as she can when she feels the panic break her voice. "We can't go yet! I can't go yet! I only just got here."

Bobby shakes his head at her, eyes wide with the sudden outburst. He rubs her ankle gently before leaning up on his elbows. "I didn't say you had to go anywhere," he says soothingly. "I said I had to go."

"But Mom and Dad said—"

"—that you could stay with Santana until she comes back as long as you call them twice a day?" Bobby finishes for her. "Yes, that's exactly what they said when I called them up this morning and spoke to them."

Brittany breathes out and Santana squeezes her softly with a smile. Bobby catches it and smirks at both of them. There's too much pride in his expression for Santana to handle along with everything else.

"Anyway," he says as he edges off the bed. "I just thought I'd come let you know that if those kids _do_ decide to leave then I'll probably hitch a ride with them. It might drive me to murder but... it'll save me some cash that I could otherwise use to get back to New Haven. Masters degrees don't pay for themselves."

He grins at them as he gets to the door. Brittany turns her head to look at Santana, face shyly buried into her shoulder.

"But yeah, sorry to intrude, my little bees..." Santana's pretty sure he hasn't called them that since they were thirteen. He's almost out of the door when he turns back. "Oh, Quinn said that if I was dumb enough to interrupt what's going on in here then the least I could do is let you know that she and Rachel are fixing dinner for everyone in case they do decide to leave. Something about... I don't know. I wasn't listening."

Brittany laughs.

Santana frowns. "Does Quinn still stare at your hair like she wants to cut pieces of it off when she looks at you?" she asks curiously. "Or has that stopped now?"

Bobby considers it. "No," he says after a moment. "She still does it. And she still calls me Big Brother Bobby. But anyway..." he nods. "I'll leave you to it. Dinner's at nine."

/

Silence falls the minute that the pair of them step into the kitchen. Brittany's hand squeezes a little in hers and she feels her cheeks pink when too many curious pairs of eyes turn in their direction. She ignores them in favor of glancing back at Brittany and gesturing for her to follow.

"YOU MADE IT!" Rachel says happily and then she's hugging Santana quickly and catching Brittany's arm in the process.

Santana laughs awkward and tugs at the bottom of the first shirt she could find when she was getting dressed. It just so happened to be Brittany's that she found tangled up in the pillows and didn't even pause to pull it on. Brittany had proudly grabbed her Fleetwood Mac one and yanked it over her head. Santana didn't really care. It was just another one of those things that she's happy she's able to do now.

"We were only upstairs," she giggles softly. "Not like... on the moon."

Rachel gives them a smile. "Yes, but... I would completely understand if you didn't want to, considering that..." She nods at Brittany. "It would just be understandable if you could think of better things to do."

Santana laughs awkwardly. "Britt was hungry."

Quinn comes up then and grabs Rachel by the shoulders. "That makes sense then," she says softly. "Rachel, leave them alone. The water's boiling over." She gestures to the pair of them. "What do you want to drink?"

/

"Where's Bobby?" Brittany asks once Rachel calls them all outside to the table and they're the last ones to get there. She steadies herself on Santana's waist as she trips out of the door and Santana reaches for her, grabbing her hand to hold onto her.

Rachel smiles at them fondly, before answering.

"He went to Frank's," she says softly as she hands Quinn the rest of the plates to place at the other end of the table where Finn is. "I think we're a bit much for him," she smiles.

Santana pulls Brittany down into the empty chair beside her and pulls them closer together. Brittany rests a hand on her leg without even really thinking about it, her eyes too engrossed in looking at the food in the middle of the table to care.

"You're all a bit much for anyone to handle," she reminds them fondly as she tucks her fingers around Brittany's. Her eyes catch the large array of food covering the huge table and widen. "Jesus Christ, Rachel, what the hell did you make?"

Rachel takes the towel from over her shoulder and begins taking the lids from all the dishes in front of them. Santana isn't even sure if most of them are even from this house.

"Tacos!" she says happily. "I thought it was fitting."

Brittany bursts into giggles beside her as Santana's eyes widen in shock. Quinn holds her face in her hand as everyone else looks like they're not sure if they should laugh or not.

"Fitting because Lopez is getting some t—" Puck starts with a leer but Quinn throws a piece of corn bread at him before he can finish it.

He smirks.

"Not the time or the place, Puckerman," Quinn warns even though she's smiling.

Santana glances up at Rachel, trying to stop her cheeks from going any more red as Brittany still giggles beside her.

"I don't get it..." Rachel says softly.

Santana just reaches for her hands and drags her into the chair beside her.

"Don't worry about it."

/

Santana doesn't say anything when Rachel stands up in her chair and grabs her glass. She doesn't have the heart to, not when Rachel's trying so hard and no way when she's had two glasses of leftover champagne. She just steadies her when she stumbles a little and makes sure she doesn't spill her third glass.

"Considering that our thirteen will become six tomorrow as many of you are all heading home..." Santana catches Quinn's eyes across the table and shakes her head slightly, fond smiles barely hidden. "...I would like to make a toast. So if you would all raise your glasses, that would be great and I'll begin."

Slowly, twelve more glasses raise in the air. Some of them water, some of them champagne and some of them higher than others, but they raise nonetheless. Santana refuses to let go of Brittany's hand but instead squeezes it tighter as they both raise their glasses.

"I'd like us all to raise a glass to an interesting... eventful... and incredibly enlightening..." She looks at Santana with a smirk. "... _Taco and Burger Tour of America 2011_."

Santana bursts out laughing instantly and shakes her head as she feels tears roll into the corners of her eyes. It's a nice change to have them keep turning up for happy reasons. She can't believe how reluctantly fond she is of all these fools. She honestly can't.

"No..." she says and shakes her head. "No, I think you mean _The First Annual New Directions Key West Vacation_," she says with a smirk. Rachel's eyes soften immediately. Somewhere nearby, Quinn lets out a little happy laugh. Santana shrugs and looks around at them all. "I mean, that's what it is, right?"

Rachel nods and then Santana looks around as all of them slowly nod in agreement, their smiles growing and beaming at her. The biggest one is Brittany who looks at her like she's the best thing ever.

"Is that an invitation for us all to come back?" Puck asks with that damn goofy smirk of his.

Santana rolls her eyes and shrugs. "What's the point of having a house this big if you can't invite your friends to stay?"

Rachel presses a hand to her shoulder and squeezes. Santana feels her excitement rushing through into her own body and then into Brittany's.

"To _The First Annual New Directions Key West Vacation!_" Rachel whoops and they all repeat her, their glasses clinking as they all meet in the middle of the table.

/

"Where are you ladies going?" Sam asks, wrapping his arms around them and trying to pry them apart when he catches them trying to sneak away back upstairs before the moment can get ruined and everyone starts arguing again.

Brittany looks at him blankly. "I need a shower," she says.

Sam gives Santana a teasing look. "And you need to go with her?" he says.

"I..." Santana starts but then she can't think of anything. Brittany's arm is around her waist and her fingers are tucked into the waistband of her shorts and it's a bit too much. "I... I'm..."

Sam laughs at her before enveloping her in a hug. "I'm kidding," he says. "Go... do what you gotta do."

/

Brittany teases her all the way up the stairs but stops when Santana wrestles her into a kiss against the bedroom door. Her giggles stop and she moans at the sensation.

Santana smirks against her lips, pushing her into the room with a hand on her ass to keep her close. She has Brittany naked the minute the door is closed behind them, her hands grappling. She tries to pull her towards the bed but Santana stops and pulls away, tugging her in the other direction.

"Santana..."

Santana nips at her lips, sucks one into her mouth before biting it. "I thought that you wanted a shower," she teases and the dazed look on Brittany's face is nothing compared to the one Santana sees as she drops to her knees under the spray of water and works her mouth between milky thighs.

It's nothing.

/

Finn, Blaine, Kurt, Mercedes and Tina all leave first, packing their stuff into Blaine's Prius and looking like sardines in a can with how tightly they're all crammed in there along with it.

They wave them off from the porch, Brittany's arms wrapped around Santana's middle as only Kurt and Mercedes wave back.

"What's happening?" Bobby says when he finds Brittany and Santana the only ones left on the porch ten minutes later. "Did I miss something?"

"Some of the guys left," Brittany tells him. Bobby's eyes widen. "Don't worry, we told Mike and Puck you wanted a ride and they're leaving this evening so you guys can all take shifts driving through the night."

Santana nods. "You should get some more sleep if you want."

He shakes his head and then wraps his arms around them until Santana's sandwiched between them.

"Nah," he yawns. "If I'm not going to see you guys until Christmas after this, I best spend some time with my little bees."

"Stop calling us that," Brittany whispers. "It's weird."

"No it isn't," Bobby tells her and Brittany gives in easily, her face buried in Bobby's shirt over Santana's shoulder.

"Do you want us to give you a tour?" Santana asks because she can sense Brittany closing in like she always does before Bobby leaves. She guesses that it's that knowledge that's probably making her tease him so much. Her arm tightens around her waist as she pulls back. "We could get lunch?"

Bobby pretends to think about it. "Are you paying?" he asks.

Santana smirks and remembers all the times she made Bobby take her and Brittany to Kewpee Burger during the summer and always made him pay.

"Yeah," she says and it's worth it just to see his eyebrow raise.

"Well..." he laughs like he's not sure what he's meant to say to that. "then who am I to refuse?"

/

They spend the late morning and early afternoon walking him down Duval Street and through Mallory Square until they get to the ocean. It's fun to see his eyes widen and his jaw drop and Brittany lets go of Santana to take his hand and tug on his arm excitedly.

"It's not like anything, is it?" Santana hears her whisper.

Bobby shakes his head. "Nothing," he agrees. "Wow. I'm kinda sad to leave."

Santana steps up and wraps his arm around her shoulders. "You can come visit," she tells him.

He smiles. "Oh really?"

"Yeah," Santana teases. "I mean... I own a vacation rental now. I could give you a discount or something."

Bobby laughs, still mesmerized by the ocean out in front of him. "A discount?" he repeats.

Santana nods and then she feels something grow in her chest.

"Or, one day, when you've got some hot wife..." she swallows to clear her throat and Brittany peers around him to find her face. "And when my hot wife is your sister... you can bring her down here to visit us."

Two pairs of eyes widen, one brown, one blue, and Santana doesn't know which one she'd rather look in. She decides to look at Bobby because shying away from him is the last thing she wants to do when she knows it means so much. Instead, she looks straight up at him and shrugs.

Bobby tightens his arms around both of them. "Try and stop me," he says and Santana sighs in relief when Brittany wraps an arm around her back and kisses her cheek.

/

They stop off at a burger joint and pick up food for the others before searching for somewhere that does something vegan for Rachel.

When they do find somewhere and take it back, Santana thinks it looks gross but Rachel devours it quicker than anything.

It's a lot quieter with only nine of them around the table but Libby and Frank drop by to see how they are for a while and it's better. It's calmer and Brittany watches quietly when Santana gets up and goes to sit with Libby, before getting up a little while later and moving to sit with them too.

Libby helps Rachel make the boys food to take with them and Santana laughs into Brittany's shoulder as she listens to Libby boss Rachel around the kitchen. Libby and Frank leave a while after that, Libby kissing all three boys on the forehead, even though Santana's ninety percent sure she wants to hit Puck. Frank just does it the normal manly way and shakes their hands before telling them to drive safe.

The sun's starting to set when Mike and Puck look at each other and decide it's probably safe to leave. It's cute how nervous they look, even cuter when Artie and Sam lean in with the pair of them to share a four-way bro hug. Brittany looks like she wants to join in but Santana makes her wait a while before letting her bound over and cuddle all four of them, even if Sam and Artie are staying.

Santana hugs them too as Brittany cuddles Bobby a bit and then tugs out some cash and slips it into Mike's hand.

"It's for gas," she tells him pointedly. "Do not let Puck buy cigarettes or alcohol."

Mike nods and then they both pull her in again, telling her they're sorry. She just calls them idiots.

Then Bobby pulls her away and takes all the air from her lungs as he holds her tight. She feels her eyes getting watery and she clutches at his shirt suddenly not wanting him to leave.

"Look after Bumblebee," he whispers into her hair.

Santana nods. "I will."

"And I know I said that you have to call Mom and Dad," he starts. "But, even when you get back, I want both of you to call me as much as you can, okay?" A hand covers the back of her head. "I forgot how much I missed you."

Santana nods. Words are beyond her a bit. She doesn't know what to say. "I missed you too," she whispers, just because it's the only thing she can think of.

Brittany's crying when she wraps her arms back around her middle. Santana shifts her until she's the one holding Brittany and they watch as Bobby climbs into the passenger's seat beside Mike while Puck dives into the back.

"I'll see you soon," Bobby says, just like he always does and they both whimper through their smiles a little, watching as the car pulls away.

/

Santana kind of thought that things would be weird once it was the six of them left behind but it's even weirder how they aren't.

Brittany sets the table in the kitchen now that there's few enough of them to fit around it while Santana helps Rachel to make pasta and Quinn attempts to make homemade garlic bread. The boys find the music and then the six of them all sit around eating, talking and joking until someone clears their throat.

"I could hear you animals down the street," she says with an amused frown. "I came to check if you were okay thinking that you were probably all going to be depressed because your friends had left but look at ya. What a damn ruckus."

"Sorry, Libby," Brittany says as she gets up to find her a chair.

Rachel moves to fetch her a glass. "Have you eaten? Santana made spaghetti and meatballs."

Libby sits down beside Santana and takes the empty glass Rachel offers her. "Fancy," she says as she leans forward to pour herself some water from the table. "Is this Bob Dylan?" she asks Artie, point up.

Artie nods. "Quinn's choice."

"Good choice," she says, sipping her water. "Get me a plate then, Rachel. Y'all carry on."

/

"I can see the six of you doing this for years, you know," Libby says and Santana looks up from where she's resting against Brittany to look at her.

Things have been amiably silent for a little while now. It all kind of went unspoken after Artie laughed so hard he was sure he pulled a muscle.

"What do you mean?" Sam asks as he helps Rachel finish of the last slice of her surprisingly good vegan apple pie.

Libby shrugs and shakes her head. "I can just see it. Do you not ever just sit there and think that you'll be doing something for the rest of your life? I can see the six you of you sitting around here in fifteen, twenty years time, maybe with some babies runnin' around, or more friends, but I can see it."

Santana looks down at her hands in Brittany's over her stomach and can't deny that she can see it too, not when Brittany's been sat there for twenty minutes, turning her grandmother's wedding ring around her finger. If she closes her eyes, it's so easy to see it and it's more wonderful than she's prepared for it to be.

"Me too," Quinn nods suddenly. Artie nods in agreement.

Rachel's smile is thoughtful and Sam just leans up on his elbow and watches her. "Can you see a Tony in this vision?" she asks. "Because that would be the perfect future if you did."

Santana laughs. "It does sound good."

Brittany kisses her temple. "The best," she whispers.

Santana leans back to kiss the underside of her chin.

/

"It's... really hot," Brittany whispers later, when they're laying on the bed in their underwear, heads at opposite ends.

Santana chuckles. "I know you are."

Brittany clicks her tongue. Santana pokes her in the nose with a toe until Brittany bites it and starts to tickle the bottom of her foot.

"Did you ever find the rest of the weed?" Brittany asks suddenly, her brow furrowing.

Santana laughs. "Quinn the junkie had it all."

Brittany's eyes widen. "All of it?"

Santana laughs a little harder. "Well, no... not all of it, I guess, but a lot."

"Then where is it?" Brittany asks, shifting a little and turning on her side to kiss the top of Santana's foot. Santana doesn't miss the other questions in her voice, the ones that sound way more naughty and mischievous than they should.

She tilts her head to the side to look at her. "Miss Pierce, are you asking me what I think you're asking me?"

Brittany gives her a look. There's more promise than a trip in those eyes. Santana shivers a little and internally groans when Brittany notices. It makes the look grow bigger and she feels Brittany teasing as she kisses her ankle again and strokes her fingers up to her knee.

"Are you saying no?" she asks. Santana gulps.

When she feels the flick of Brittany's tongue, she doesn't think she could if she tried.

/

Brittany giggles.

It's beautiful.

Santana blinks away the haze of smoke and color that surrounds her, the music Brittany made her put on specially, in order to think.

Fuck, she's high.

Brittany giggles again.

Or maybe it's her giggling.

Shit, she's really high. Does this stuff get stronger the longer you leave it? Hell knows. Her abuela was right. She's pretty sure anything she smoked in Lima was probably from Sandy Ryerson's stash of oregano. Maybe she should take this back with her? She was going to put it in the safe but now she's just worried that if she leaves it in there it'll end up growing into a fully grown stoner.

She giggles.

That's funny. Brittany giggles too. Maybe she said that out loud.

"I really, really love you," Santana says when her giggles have stopped. The hand she has resting on Brittany's bare thigh strokes up and down and Santana nods. "Like... I really, really, really love you."

Brittany responds by kissing her ankle. Santana feels her tongue flicking out, open-mouthed and it makes her entire leg feel all jumpy and over-sensitive. A cheek rests against it once she stops and Santana sighs.

"This is awesome," Santana breathes and blows away the hair stuck to her forehead. "It's really hot tonight."

"You're really hot tonight," Brittany retorts. Santana shakes with her giggles.

"I already did that one I think, Britt Britt," she says.

Brittany looks up and smiles goofily. Maybe happiness makes the weed stronger. That's got to be it. Maybe the heat does too.

She groans. "I'm taking my underwear off," she says out loud. "It's too hot."

It's really hard when Brittany won't let go of her legs but she helps them shimmy them off and pulls them off at her feet. Santana lays back, falling into the mountain of pillows with one arm outstretched and the other falling back to Brittany's thigh. She looks down at her, just because. Brittany gives her a smirk before nudging a hand at her knee. Santana lets her legs open a fraction of an inch and Brittany looks at the spot between her things before biting at the bone in Santana's ankle.

Santana 's pretty sure she blushes and becomes preoccupied with closing her eyes at the heat that rushes down her spine and to her center. It must be noticeable because Brittany's brow raises at her drowsily from where she still stares at the most intimate part of her. She expects Brittany to begin crawling back up her body when she shifts but she doesn't. She just rolls onto her back and shimmies out of her underwear before seductively tossing them aside. It makes Santana smirk. Brittany pulls up a leg until one of her feet is flat to the bed and Santana look where she wants to as Brittany starts stroking up her inner thigh.

"Santana..." she says, trying to get Santana's attention. Santana just dreamily stares at the spot between her legs. Brittany bites her ankle, shifting. "Santana," she says again and then Santana's breath hitches as Brittany begins to lift her own leg out of the way.

It takes her a slow second to figure out what's happening but when she does, clarity and reasoning come to her quicker than she thought it would.

"I—I—I thought..." she mumbles out in a jumble. Brittany looks at her as she kisses her ankles, her calves, and rearranges herself until all it would take is a twist of her hips and a shift forward before that would be it. Heaven."You said we were better. You—you—you said you didn't..."

Brittany rests a cheek against her knee and smiles up at her. "It was always making love," she whispers as she bends to kiss the crease of Santana's knee. "I was scared and I didn't see that but now I do..." She whispers and Santana can hear her voice hitching with the want. "You're mine," Brittany whispers. "Right?"

"Forever."

"Then just lay back," Brittany whispers softly. "And take my hand."

She reaches for Santana and Santana raises her hand out to her, and then that's all it takes. Brittany tugs herself closer and then they're touching in a way they haven't in such a long time. Santana gasps, her back arching and breaks off into a moan as Brittany pushes insistently, waiting for her. A thigh comes up and lays over her stomach, resting on her shoulder, and she grips it with her free hand as Brittany's grip underneath one of her bent up knees increases. Nails dig into the back of her calf and Santana moans again at the friction to the soft, sensitive parts of her.

"Britt..." she breathes out and starts seeing a million different colors behind her eyes when Brittany starts a slow, steady rhythm that's still familiar after all these months. It's strange not having Cheerios skirts—or even, sometimes, their underwear— in the way, but it feels amazing. It reminds Santana of what they used to be and what they've become because as Brittany's breath starts leaving her in short, sharp gasps, a wetness ,that she now knows the taste of, mixing with her own coats her inner thighs. It feels a million times better. She feels so much closer to her.

She lets her eyes flutter open a little because it worries her when the only noises Brittany makes are gasps. She swallows and tries to get her mouth to work around words instead of moans. "You—you okay?"

She hears something move quickly against the sheets and assumes that Brittany must be nodding. She looks down and clenches at what she can see of her. She's nothing but her wild blond hair and her heaving chest, the fluttering of her stomach muscles more the visible.

"Feels good," tumbles from Brittany's mouth and she can't take it. She leans up on one elbow and releases her hand from Brittany's, leaning forward to stroke it over the flickering muscles in her stomach as far as she can until Brittany clutches it to her skin. "So good."

Santana clenches again and her eyes struggle to stay open at the thickness of the pleasure, the warmth that surrounds her like sleep. She moans again and her hips jolt out of practice, putting off the rhythm. A moan, broken and beautiful, breaks from Brittany and Santana does it again until the sound of her cries is driving her higher than the friction.

And when Brittany starts to let out pleasured little sighs, it's too much and Santana grips at Brittany's hip to pull into her harder, no rhythm guiding her whatsoever until she feels herself collapse from the inside out. Her back falls to the bed, spent, and she moans when Brittany instantly takes the rhythm back, rocking into her like the ebb of an ocean, until she's shuddering against her, vibrating up her body.

Santana doesn't even wait to tap her on the thigh to beckon her forward. "C'mere," she says insistently when Brittany just grunts. Brittany lifts her head and Santana looks down at her, breathless and desperate, tugging on her hand until she moves. "C'mere."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says, panting. "Nothing," she promises and then she clutches at Brittany's waist, guiding her until she's hiked up around her shoulders, knees either side of her face.

Brittany looks confused. "What are you..." she starts and then she's moaning again, shuddering more, as Santana's tongue licks over her broadly, tasting both of them.

/

Santana forgot about the munchies. She guesses that's the good part about making brownies the last time. They killed two birds with one stone.

It's not the same now and, when Brittany's licking paths up her neck as she presses her against the fridge, telling her she wants to eat something salty and sweet at the same time, food is the last thing that Santana can think of.

She wonders if she can wake up early and clean the kitchen island before Rachel gets up tomorrow. She's pretty sure the imprint of her ass and her shoulders and the dip of her back is left behind on it. It's really hard to think about it when Brittany's fingers are working inside of her, two—no three—rubbing perfectly in a way that makes her ache.

It's _her _fucking kitchen island.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, MARY AND ALL THE DAMN SAINTS!"

Something falls somewhere, hitting the floor with a smash. Santana's still a little too high to care that it's a plate. Also, Quinn just walked in on them fucking against the counter and Santana's pretty sure that she may have just seen more than her boobs.

Whatever. Brittany dropping to use her body as a human blanket to cover her is just about as hilarious as anything and she finds herself clutching one hand to Brittany's shoulders as the other tries to muffle her laughter. Brittany giggles too and Santana's just really, really aware that Brittany's still three fingers deep inside of her and laughing against her breast.

"Quinn, what's—"

"ARTIE ABRAMS IF YOU WALK THROUGH THAT DOOR YOU WILL BE SORRY," Quinn shouts, loud and panicked, as she turns to the door.

Santana bites her lip to muffle her moan when Brittany takes that opportunity to remove her fingers.

It all just makes Santana laugh harder and Brittany tilts her head, chin resting on her breast bone, to look at Quinn with a smirk.

"No he won't," she laughs. "Let's be real here."

Quinn glares at them. "Put your damn clothes on!" she hisses.

Brittany tugs at the sheet, somehow still wrapped around her waist to show Quinn that it's all they have. Santana tilts her head back against the counter and gasps at what she sees.

"Are you wearing Artie's shirt?" she asks teasingly. Brittany looks up at her, urging the sheet around her a little until she sits up.

Brittany wraps it again, tucking it over a little under her armpit like a towel before looking too. "That is!" she says and Santana wraps her arms around Brittany's shoulders to let her help her down off the counter. "That's Artie's _favorite _shirt!"

Santana turns, Brittany holding the sheet, to look at her. "His _favorite_?" she gasps scandalously.

It's that moment that Artie rolls in, sleepy and without his glasses, in nothing but a pair of boxers. Santana gasps at the same time that Brittany does an excited little shuffle, pointing at the pair of them.

"YOU HAD SEX!" she accuses.

Quinn opens her mouth but her blush gives her away quickly. Probably because it was already there.

She points with the opposite hand to Brittany. "YOU HAD A DAMN _ORGASM!_"

Brittany frowns. "She did?" she asks. She takes a closer look then she clicks her tongue and nudges Santana a bit. "Of course she did. Artie's really good at orgasms."

Santana turns to her incredulously. "Well, I can believe that _now_!" she says. "It just makes sense to why she's been so freaking chirpy recently."

"Can you guys stop—"

"Sam! _Stop _it!"

Santana barks out a laugh when the back door swings open and Rachel Berry comes in wearing a damn Superman t-shirt.

"This is the best night of my life," she whispers, turning to Quinn. Quinn sits at the breakfast table with her head in her hands. Artie looks like he doesn't know what the hell is going on.

"Is this a sex house?" Brittany asks suddenly, eyes wide.

Rachel looks as shocked as if someone had told her that Barbra Striesand was waiting for her on the porch to duet _Don't Rain on My Parade._

"We haven't had sex!"

Santana narrows her eyesdisbelievingly. "Yeah, but you were about to."

"How do you know?" Sam says with a glare.

Brittany points at his crotch. "Because the last time I checked there weren't any gnomes in the garden you could smuggle in your underwear!"

Sam covers his crotch without even looking.

Santana leans back against Brittany, unable to stop giggling and only laughing more when Artie narrows his eyes and looks at Sam.

"Dude, that thing is huge!" he whispers. "I can see it without my glasses."

"BRITT! BOOBS!" Santana shouts as Brittany starts laughing so vigorously she almost drops the sheet, tugging it up quickly.

"Just... EVERYBODY STOP!" Quinn yells and they all do, apart from Brittany who manages to quiet her laughs just a little bit. Rachel's somehow managed to turn herself until her forehead is pressed against the wall, her hands at her sides. "Let's just forget this happened and go back to whatever it was we were or were not doing."

Santana stares at her before taking a deep breath in. "Let's make pancakes!" she says to Brittany.

"Ooo, pancakes," Artie whispers.

"I'll help!" Rachel says, spinning around.

Quinn groans.

/

It's possibly one of the most surreal moments of her life, flipping pancakes in her grandmother's kitchen at 6am as she sings loudly along to Stevie Nicks' "Edge of Seventeen" with her friends.

It's made even more surreal by the fact that those friends are as barely dressed as she is, in her bed sheet toga she shares with Brittany.

It's made even weirder than that by the fact that none of them are questioning it.

Except for Quinn, who goes from hating it to trying to tug it off of them.

It's probably not the best moment to announce the fact that she and Quinn kissed, but it's really funny to watch her panic. She looks from Brittany to Santana to Artie as she gawps like a fish, trying to find her excuse.

"She's a good kisser, right?" Brittany says softly.

Santana shrugs. "You're better," she says honestly. Brittany leans forward and kisses her just to remind her.

"Why aren't you freaking out about this?" Quinn says, eyes switching from Artie to Brittany to Santana.

"Are you in love with Santana, Quinn?" Brittany says softly, fork digging into her pancakes. Quinn quickly shakes her head. "And Santana's in love with me, so what do I have to worry about? It was just a kiss—"

"She showed me her boobs, too..."

Brittany's eyes brighten. "Wow," she says and that does make her eyes widen a little. "Okay, little jealous, but whatever. Still. She's in love with me, so I'm not worried."

Quinn turns to Artie. "And what about you?"

Artie shrugs. "She's in love with Britt," he repeats. "Nothing to worry about."

Santana softens and she thinks Artie Abrams has grown up a bit.

"Also," Brittany says softly. "I've had my tongue in the mouths of everyone in this room, so how is it any weirder than that? Kissing's awesome."

Santana kisses her and loves that she can prove all her points.

/

She never thinks she'll tire of the color of Brittany's soft, pale skin in the burnt light of the afternoon sun or the way that it makes her hair look like glitter. She runs her fingers through it and down Brittany's spine as they lay together, the sheet tangled around their legs, forgotten.

"So, I have a question," Brittany says softly, bright blue eyes glowing with gold. Santana moves closer and hums to show that she's listening. Brittany gulps. The hand she has tucked up under her chin loosens and reaches to stroke Santana's cheek. "Are you coming back to Lima?"

Santana's stomach drops a little, more with worry than anything. Brittany must see it because she shifts a little more suddenly, her hand cupping Santana's jaw.

"I don't want to push you or anything," she whispers. "I just... I want to know what's happening and we keep talking about things but missing other things out and Artie and Quinn said you were thinking of staying and I just want to know. I just want to know."

Santana clicks her tongue and leans forward to kiss her quickly. She catches her bottom lip and sucks in the taste of Brittany as she pulls back. "Of course, I am," she whispers softly.

Brittany's eyes brighten. "You are?"

Santana nods. "I don't know how or what I'm going to do with—with my parents and stuff," she shrugs softly, reluctantly, because even though it feels easier to talk about it now, it still hurts and scares her. "But how can I not, you know? You're there. And my grandmother wants me to look after Libby but... we can visit, right? I mean I don't think I have to worry about stuff because of my inheritance but... I can maybe get a job so we can go visit her at the holidays and stuff and then we'll be in Miami in a year and that's where she lives—I think—and just..." Brittany looks at her fondly and it makes her feel silly in the best way. "We'll figure it out."

Brittany nods. "We'll figure it out."

/

Santana smiles when Brittany reaches over to the cigar box on the nightstand and takes out the printed-out pages put back in there. She leans up on her elbow and smirks at Brittany as Brittany pushes up onto her forearms and puts the papers in front of her, looking at them curiously.

"'The Rosenstiel School of Marine and Atmospheric Science'," she reads and Santana just smirks wider at the little wiggle of her toes she gives. "Sounds fancy."

Her eyes get bigger the more she reads, her fingers tracing the blurry pictures of fishes and dolphins and all the other weird marine creatures that Santana knows she's probably going to spend the rest of her life vicariously learning everything about. It makes her feel like she's swaying from side to side happily, the look on Brittany's face filling her with hope because of how happy and relieved it looks.

She shifts closer to feel the energy radiating off of her.

"Are you excited?" she asks softly, her hand tangling in the hair at the back of Brittany's neck.

Brittany looks up at her and purses her lips to hold back a grin, turning it into a small, timid little smile. "Scared, too," she admits. "There's a long way to go and a lot to do first."

Santana opens her mouth to speak but Brittany cuts through her.

"It'll be worth it," she says, taking the words right from Santana's mouth.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself and is glad she's laying down. "Yeah," she whispers. "It will."

Brittany is silent as she continues to read everything that Santana knows like the back of her hand. She watches her just as quietly, a smile on her face as Brittany acquaints herself with the information, glad when her smile just gets bigger and bigger instead of more daunted at what needs to happen. Santana was scared too, but now she's not anymore. She's just full of hope.

"Is this the box your abuela gave you?" Brittany asks when she reaching back up to put the papers away. Santana snaps from her reverie to give her a nod and a smile. Brittany gives her a smile back before pulling the box down to nosily look in it.

She looks through all the keys with little interest before she finds the photo of Libby that Santana suddenly really doesn't feel comfortable owning anymore. Brittany doesn't look too comfortable with it either and Santana giggles a little as her eyes go wide. She turns it over and tucks it at the bottom of the box before moving to the next thing.

"Does this work?" she says and Santana peers at what she's looking at to find the old camera her grandmother had left in there. It's just another thing that finally makes sense to her and she laughs a little, thinking of the huge box of photos in the living room.

She shrugs her shoulders. "You're the expert," she says. "You tell me."

Brittany tries to take a picture but it doesn't work. Strong hands struggle as she tries to move the cigar box out of the way and Santana helps her and takes the camera so that she can heft it back onto the nightstand. Blue eyes narrow then and Brittany puts the camera down in front of her to inspect it curiously. Santana asks no questions when Brittany pushes her way between the pillows, just watches as Brittany creates a dark little cave with pillows before popping off the bottom and opening up the back of the camera.

"Oh!" she says, suddenly retreating quickly. "Never mind, there's a new film in here. We must just have to reel it on."

Her fingers work timidly yet quickly and Santana shakes her head fondly because she has no idea how Brittany knows all this crap, has no idea why she thinks she's not smart enough to do anything. She finds joy in the tiniest things and Santana giggles as she grins widely once she's figured out how to load the film and worked out the little levers she has to pull and turn in order to reel it on.

Brittany smiles proudly when everything clicks into place before putting the bottom back on and holding it out to Santana.

Santana just kisses her quickly before shaking her head. "I think you better keep a hold of that," she says softly. "What even _was_ that?"

Brittany shrugs. "I like cameras," she says and then she holds the camera up to her face. "Should I take your picture?"

Santana pulls the camera away and shakes her head. The picture of Libby in the bottom of the box, and the entire box of photos downstairs without her in them, make her feel sad all of a sudden. She thinks of back then, probably when this camera was the most advanced thing in the world, and how her grandmother and Libby probably couldn't take a picture of themselves together. It makes her just feel really sad and she finds herself shaking her head adamantly as she pulls Brittany to her and squashes their noses together.

"Together," she whispers against her mouth and Brittany must notice the determination in her eyes because she begins tugging at her, maneuvering them until Santana's laid half atop her in her arms with their cheeks pressed together.

Brittany stretches her arms up above her head with the camera in her hands and holds it as steady as she can as she turns the dials on the top. Santana doesn't look at it, just turns her head to Brittany's chin and kisses it until Brittany turns her head and kisses her softly on the lips.

The click is almost anticlimactic but Santana smiles anyway. Brittany's arms fall until the camera is resting over their stomachs.

Santana really misses modern technology when she remembers that they can't look at it yet. Brittany looks just as disappointed and she breathes out sadly before giving a little chuckle, her shoulders shrugging.

Santana can't stand for that. "Where's my phone?" she says and Brittany turns her head before finding it sat on the nightstand. She hands it to her quickly and Santana finds her camera application before giving it back. "Again," she says and Brittany nods.

They hold the phone together as they look over it and Santana feels Brittany's breath hitch at the sight of them. A lithe arm tightens around her waist and she clutches it with her spare one before urging Brittany into another kiss.

"Is that what we look like together?" Brittany whispers against her lips and Santana gets what she means straight away.

Even when they're sweaty and gross, make-up-less, messy-haired and naked, they still somehow manage to look like the most perfect thing ever. Santana doesn't think that Brittany's ever looked more beautiful. She doesn't think she's ever _felt _more beautiful.

She nods, their noses brushing until Santana kisses the tip of Brittany's and tilts her head back to look at her. "I think so," she says.

Brittany smiles. "Let's test it again," she says and after that, all Santana hears, is the fake mechanical whirr of her camera phone, going off again and again and again, as Brittany attacks her with kisses.

/

Later, when she's flat on her back and her breath is still heaving from her, she looks through her camera reel to see how many pictures they took and quickly realizes that it's not so much about how many they took but how many they now have to hide from prying eyes.

She has no idea how Brittany managed to take pictures of her while she was doing that or how she managed to even _hold_ the phone while Santana was doing it back to her. She doesn't really want to know.

She just wants to look and appreciate and, really, just take some more because there's way too many pictures of her for it being her phone and all.

Brittany doesn't argue when she pushes her on her back and straddles her hips, just does as she's told and smiles warmly for the camera.

For her and _only _for her.

/

"Not for Facebook," Brittany mutters against her shoulders a little after that, when the sun is going down and all the good light has gone.

Santana bursts out laughing and scrolls to another picture of parts of Brittany that only she wants to be able to see.

"Yes, baby," she agrees lowly and huskily in a whisper. "_Definitely _not for Facebook."

/

"When I was little," Santana starts softly, carefully, like she's handling delicate crystal. "I used to come sit out on this balcony and wish that you'd get to come here one day."

"Yeah?"

Santana nods and her hands keep stroking through Brittany's hair like they have been for a couple of hours now. "Mhm," she says. "I used to lay out in this ridiculous hammock and look up at the stars and wish that you were here or at least that you'd get to come visit. I wanted you to hear the ocean and see the stars..."

"And see how big everything is," Brittany says quietly, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders and looking up at Santana from where she lays on her stomach.

Santana's lets her thumbs curve over Brittany's jaw as she nods. The hammock sways a little, creaking in the breeze.

"I wanted to build sandcastles with you on the beach, too," she grins. "My abuelo used to make awesome sandcastles and we'd get water from the sea and make a moat. It was awesome."

Brittany's face turns on her stomach, lifting the fabric of her shirt a little. Her hands tighten on Santana's thighs on either side of her waist.

"I'm sorry I never got to meet him," she whispers. "I would have loved that." Santana strokes the back of her fingers over Brittany's collarbones, listening and knowing she isn't finished. "I'm—I'm really happy that I got to meet your abuela."

Santana nods. "Me too," she whispers.

"I'm glad that you got to be there with her," Brittany continues. "I'm glad you have that..."

"Me too," Santana whispers and she's glad for the quiet that they lapse into. It's easier to let the tears roll down her cheek this way. The sound of the waves in the distance is soothing and Brittany's hands rub comfortingly over her thighs.

"Can we go see the cats with six toes before we leave?" Brittany asks a while later and Santana's glad for the change of subject, glad that she can smile at it.

"Sure," she says softly. "They're at Hemingway House, though, so we'll probably have to take Quinn and Artie with us too. And Rachel will probably want to come too, and like... Sam's Sam, so..."

"That's okay," Brittany says. "I like hanging out with them."

"Me too."

Brittany turns her head to kiss Santana's palm quickly. "Told you they'd see how awesome you are."

Santana chuckles. She feels tired. "I know," she says. "You were right."

"I'm always right," Brittany says and Santana sighs when she stops. She really just wants to listen to her voice all of a sudden.

She reaches out one of her hands and Brittany takes it quickly, holding it over her shoulder.

"Tell me stuff," Santana whispers softly.

"I love you," Brittany says happily in response.

Santana giggles. "Other stuff," she mumbles. "Tell me what you want, things you want to do, places you want to go... so I can take you there."

Brittany goes quiet for a moment and Santana can hear her thinking, can see her biting her lip in thought.

"Well," she says, elongating the letters. "I already swam with dolphins and got you, so..." Santana smiles a too-happy smile. Her fingers dip beneath the collar of Brittany's shirt, tracing a collarbone. She listens. "I don't know... I always wanted to go to Australia."

Santana smiles at that. "Why?"

"I wanna find Nemo," Brittany giggles low in her chest. Santana feels it vibrating through her, making her smile wider. "And like... it's far away and there are beaches and... I don't know..."

Santana's breath hitches when she feels Brittany playing with the gold band around her ring finger again. It makes her feel a million things but only want one.

"What else?" she whispers, her eyes drooping closed.

Brittany kisses her palm. "Europe," Brittany whispers softly. "I want to go to Europe."

Santana shifts until she cradles Brittany better in her thighs, in the dips of her body. Brittany goes with it easily, snuggling closer. "Where?" Santana asks. "Where in Europe?"

Brittany hums in thought and turns her chin up to the sky. "Paris," she says after a while. "I want to climb the Eiffel Tower on a windy day." Santana doesn't say anything, just listens. "I want to go to Amsterdam. I wanna see my family there. And I kinda wanna get high there too," she chuckles.

Santana tickles her a little until she giggles some more, shifting until Santana stops. It takes her a few minutes to calm down and speak.

"I want to go Flamenco dancing in Barcelona..." she breathes. "I want to see the Swiss Alps and I want... I want to go everywhere." Her head tilts back and Santana reaches to trace her smile with a fingertip. "I want to go everywhere with you."

Santana smiles. "Me too," she whispers. Brittany kisses the tip of her finger softly. Santana feels things inside of her glowing. "We'll do it... we'll do all of it."

Brittany turns over carefully, getting caught a little until she manages to fit herself with an elbow either side of Santana's waist. She presses a kiss over Santana's stomach before folding her hands over it and resting her chin on them.

"Yeah?" she asks. Santana nods, her hand pushing blond hair behind perfect ears. She rubs the lobe of one between her finger and thumb before tracing softly down Brittany's jaw with her fingers. Blue eyes flutter at the sensation, so she does it again, bringing another hand to the other side and repeating the actions until Brittany's breath hitches. She shifts in a different way and Santana smirks a little.

Brittany bites playfully at her stomach through her shirt but it doesn't stop her.

"I kinda want to go to Italy too," she says softly. "Can we go to Italy? I wanna see what real gelato tastes like."

"That sounds fun, Britt Britt," Santana says softly, sleepily. Brittany smiles. Santana's imagination flutters into action at that and she hums, thinking about Brittany in the Mediterranean sun. "We can go to Rome," she says. "And you can go see the Colosseum and we can go to the Vatican. We can climb the Spanish Steps and eat Gelato near the Trevi fountain. Or we could go to Naples and eat the best pizza in the world. Or we could go find some little village in Tuscany and we can pick grapes in a vineyard." She takes a deep breath in. "I hear some places grow fields of sunflowers. We could spend days walking through them and then we could sit out on a balcony just like this one and drink red wine... eat fresh pasta."

Brittany sighs and curls into her. "That sounds nice," she says and she sounds suddenly sleepy too. "When can we do that?"

Fingers twist the gold band around her finger and Santana speaks without thinking. "When we're married," she whispers. "For our honeymoon."

It's like the entire world goes still for a second when Brittany holds her breath. Santana feels nervous all of a sudden and she dares to open her eyes a second later but refuses to look down. She suddenly feels like she's scared her. She tilts her back and blinks away embarrassed tears. They never get to fall because not a second later, Brittany's clambering up her body and kissing her furiously, tongue dipping into her mouth without preamble, forcing moans from her throat.

She pulls away breathlessly and presses her forehead against Santana's with a smile that can't contain all her happiness.

"And then..." she whispers. "And then we'll come back here... we'll come back here and we'll spend our lives together."

It isn't a question. Santana gulps because that's going to take some time getting used to.

"Yeah," she nods and Brittany doesn't say anything else, just kisses her again and wipes away Santana's pointless, happy tears.

/

She thinks that waking up every morning to a softly whispered "Good morning, baby" might be the best part of all this. Or maybe it's Brittany careless giggle in her ear or the way her nails dig warningly in her backside when Santana's kisses suck to hard at the base of her neck. The candid way that she talks about forever gives everything else a run for its money too, and moments like now, when Santana's kissing her way back up a stretched but no longer strung out body, that make her feel like there's nothing more important in the world.

And maybe it won't be long before they're back in Lima, and moments like this won't be as possible as they are right now for a while, but just being safe in the knowledge that they might not never happen again is enough for her.

It's more than she's had before, assurance, hope, and it makes her smile against the now-relaxed muscles of Brittany's stomach as fingers trace careful shapes over the tops of her shoulders. She giggles against warm skin and instead of looking at her like she's crazy, still-sleepy blue eyes smile down at her full of love and she can feel that. For the first time, she can feel how strong that love is.

"You're a goof," Brittany smiles at her and Santana just giggles, sucking another hickey to Brittany's stomach until she breathes in deeply and gives her a warning tap to the top of the head.

She presses the flat of her tongue against it to soothe it before kissing it gently. "Goofy's your favorite, though," she says with a smirk.

Brittany gives her a look that makes her want to punch the air in triumph, before curling her arm up under her head. Santana takes that as permission to continue and cups one breast as she gently presses kisses to the other.

"I look diseased," Brittany comments idly and Santana swipes the pad of her thumb under the curve of her breast to get her attention. It works but not for long. Brittany nudges at her forehead until she pulls away then presses a hand to her chest as she peers down at the hickeys covering her stomach. "Look at em," she laughs but she doesn't sound too unimpressed.

Santana just uses a finger to trace over them, making shapes and patterns through the marks. She pulls back a little and tilts her head to consider it. They do look a bit ridiculous. Maybe she should go get her some ice.

"I like em though," Brittany says shyly. "If anyone sees them, they can ask me 'Who the heck did that?' and I can say 'my girl did!' and that's it."

Santana nods. "Yup," she says and then kisses her way up Brittany's chest to her neck, kissing there slowly and surely. "_Your_ girl did it."

Brittany nods and then grabs her by the cheeks pulling her away and looking at her with a grin. "_I got sunshineeeeeee_," she sings suddenly. "_On a clouuuuudy day! When it's cooooooldd outside—_"

"_I got the month of Maaay_!" Santana sings along with her, laughing. "_I guess—_"

"_You'll say..._" Brittany sings, getting louder and louder. "_What can make me feel this way_?"

"_My girl_!" They finish together before collapsing into giggles.

They stop when they hear a knock at the door. Santana reaches down for the covers automatically, pulling them over her head as she moves back to rest on Brittany's stomach.

"This better be good!" she calls out from beneath the covers to whoever's at the door. Brittany, still giggling, tries to find her mouth through the fabric, shushing her. "Fine! Come in!"

The door opens quietly and Santana can tell from that that it isn't Quinn or Sam. The footsteps are timidly quiet and there's no sound of wheels so she crawls up Brittany's body before poking her head out of the top of the covers to look at Rachel.

She looks weird.

"I'm sorry to bother you both, but..." she starts quietly and just the tone of her voice scares the crap out of Santana, putting her on edge. Brittany's hands stroke down her arms to find her hands and squeeze. Rachel takes another step forward, her hands gripping each other. "Santana... your parents are here."

/

Rachel leaves a few moments later, after Santana's accidentally flashed her boobs to her and Brittany's told her to give them a second.

Santana sits on the edge of the bed, trying to catch her breath and Brittany snuggles up behind her, mouth on her shoulder, as she tells her to breathe. It's really hard to when Santana had been so sure that, if she hadn't spoken to her parents by now, she probably wasn't going to be hearing from them ever.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Brittany whispers. "Everything will be okay no matter what you choose, okay?" She brushes Santana's hair back and presses another kiss to her neck. "Okay?"

Santana nods. She knows that. She believes that. She's not alone. It's just... she didn't account for this when she was silently piecing her life back together in the quiet moments she'd spent with Brittany. She honestly never thought she'd have to speak to her parents again and now she's just scared that they're going to make her do something that she doesn't want to. She's scared that she'll just go downstairs to have a world of abuse hurled at her, Libby and her grandmother again.

Except, shit, Brittany's here now, too.

"Stay up here, okay?" she tells her without another thought.

Brittany gives her a look and shakes her head, leaning in to kiss her lips. "Like hell I am," she whispers against her mouth, hand buried in Santana's hair at the back of her neck. "We're in this together now," she says softly. "Me and you forever, right?"

Santana looks down as a pinky reaches up to her, outstretched. She wraps her own around it quickly and kisses Brittany again.

"Right," she nods.

/

She feels so small as she wanders down the stairs ahead of Brittany. Her grip tightens around long, pale fingers as she notices two familiar figures lingering outside the front door. Sam and Quinn stand in the way of them getting in and Santana doesn't know whether to be thankful or cringe at their actions as Rachel steps up to meet her.

"I called Frank," she whispers quickly. "Quinn said I should. He's on his way."

Santana just nods. Rachel looks at her expectantly.

"Can you—can you make some coffee?" she asks, just to get her out of her hair. Rachel nods and scurries away.

Brittany lets go of her hand as she steps towards the door. Artie, Quinn and Sam all turn to stop her. She holds her hands up to stop them coming closer.

"Just let them in," she whispers, avoiding her parents' eyes as they both turn at the sound of her voice.

/

Brittany leans against the counter in the corner of the kitchen while Santana sits down to pour herself some of the coffee Rachel left out on the table. She doesn't look up when someone wanders into the kitchen but notices that it's only one of them: her mother by the shape of her shadow.

"You're a little late for the funeral," she whispers softy, when her mother doesn't say anything or sit down. "You want some coffee?"

"No..." her mother says and her voice is quiet, unsure. "No, I'm fine, thank you."

"Whatever," Santana whispers.

She tries not to flinch when her mother sits down opposite her. It takes her everything not to jump up right at that second and walk over to Brittany. She knows she'll be safe there.

"We didn't know if we were welcome there," her mother says softly. "We didn't know if it was what you wanted..."

She's on her feet in a second, chair squeaking against the tiles of the floor and hitting the kitchen island. Santana sees her mother flinch and Brittany take a step forward to catch her. She stops when Santana softens immediately, her eyes watering and her hands shaking.

"What _I _wanted," she repeats, her voice hoarse and aching already. "What makes you think that her funeral is about what _I _wanted? She wanted you there! Despite everything she wanted you there, Mom. She wanted _Dad _there!" She sniffs. "Where is he, huh? He outside? Did you drag him here or something?"

"He—He didn't think you'd want him here," her mother whispers, struggling. "He didn't want to upset you."

"Upset me?" she scoffs. "It's a bit late for _that, _don't you think? You didn't care about that last week when you were here! You just got up and walked away! Didn't even think twice!"

"You don't know what it's like to be a parent, Santana," her mother says emphatically, getting to her feet and holding out her hands. "You don't know what it's like to be terrified of the choices your children make..."

Santana takes a breath. "Firstly, I have made no choices. I have had no choices about _this..._" Her voice shakes a little. "Secondly, you're right, I don't know what it's like to be a parent but I know that being a parent means you're supposed to love and be there for your kid no matter what. You're supposed to do what's _right _by your child—"

"And _that's_ what we were doing!" her mother tries to argue.

"NO!" Santana says and her mother flinches, stepping back. "No you didn't. You _left _me. You left me wondering what the hell I was supposed to do for a _week_, Mom. A _week_. And then you just turn up and, what? You want to do right by me now?" Santana shakes her head and turns up her nose. "No, it's been seven days. If you wanted me to believe you then you'd have never walked out that damn door and left me wondering if I have a damn home!"

"I know!" her mother says frantically. "I know, I know. We were wrong and we were trying to do right by you but we were misled. We know. We figured it out the second we left, but that's why we're here!" she tries. "We're sorry, Santana and that's why we're here."

Santana shakes her head and folds her arms. Brittany's arms twitch at her side like she's waiting for her to need to collapse into them.

"I don't care," Santana whispers and the reluctance and hurt inside of her is so big that she can't handle it. It feels like bile, like vomit and she wants to throw it up but it's just stuck there and she can't do anything about it. "I don't care because if you were sincere then you wouldn't have taken seven days to come back... You'd have come back and you'd be begging at my feet for me to forgive you because you hurt me worse than anyone else and you're my _parents_," she spits. "And instead, I get a half-assed excuse from one of you while the other is too pathetic to even step inside, so... no," she shakes her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wipes them away furiously. "I don't care. I want you to leave."

"Santana..." her mother tries.

Santana shakes her head, turning to Brittany. Brittany wraps an arm around her and then Santana feels her mother's hand on her back as she repeats her name over and over again.

Someone snatches it away when Santana flinches from it.

"Go," Brittany says in a voice she hasn't heard before. "Now."

Her mother must stop walking away because Brittany repeats herself again, stronger and with more warning.

"Fine," her mother says. "But I promise you that we're not going anywhere until this is all figured out."

/

"Where is she?"

Santana breathes out in relief at the sound of Libby's voice, her footsteps on the floor as she wanders into the kitchen. Frank's voice echoes loud and raised from the front of the house and Santana doesn't say anything when Libby wraps her arms around the pair of them and pulls them close.

"We came as soon as we could," she whispers in her ear. "Is she okay?" she asks Brittany. "Are you okay, sweet girl?"

Santana nods and Brittany helps her to turn into Libby's arms, their positions changing as Brittany's hands fall to grip at her waist.

"Let's go upstairs," Libby whispers. Santana nods. "Come on. Britt, bring that coffee. It's already too early for this shit."

Brittany laughs once and does as she's told.

/

Libby sits her down on the couch and pours her a cup of coffee. Brittany opens the door to the balcony like she's told to then stands and leans against the frame as Libby calms Santana down.

"You know she'd want you to give them a chance," Libby says softly and Santana wipes her hands over her tears, not sure why she's crying anymore. "She'd want you to forgive them."

Santana scoffs. "I don't care."

Libby makes a noise in her throat. "Yes, you do," she grumbles and Santana breathes out because she's right. "You and I both know that you do because you and I know that she's right." Libby clicks her tongue. "You know that she'd sigh and she'd grumble and she'd say stop wasting your energy on holding a grudge and use it to try and forgive them instead." Santana rolls her eyes and Libby laughs. "I know. It's fucking annoying but she was like it for seventy-one years and it always worked for her."

Santana sniffs as her tears subside. She nods and shakes her head, glancing up at Brittany and then to Libby and watching as they both give her narrowed smiles. All Santana can think about is how she knows that, if she does what her grandmother would want, then there's no doubt that her parents are probably going to try and stop her seeing both Libby and Brittany. She already knows she's going to fly off the handle when they suggest it. And even then, they're smart, they're wily, they'd figure out a way to make it happen without her even realizing it.

"I know," she whispers, shrugging her shoulders. "I know but they left when I told them I was gay... I mean..." She breathes out. "What kind of relationship would that be if I just... forgave them for that?" she asks. "I mean, you've done nothing wrong and they don't want me to have anything to do with you," she chokes and shakes her head. "I don't want them to keep you away from me if I go back to Lima..." she admits. "I don't even want to leave you when I _do _go back to Lima..."

Libby's face falls and she clicks her tongue, reaching forward to pull Santana into her shoulder.

"You stop that right now," she whispers in her ear and Santana just cries harder. "Are you listening to me? You need to stop with this thinking that you need to look after me just because your damn grandmother told you to." She pushes Santana back by the shoulders to look at her. "I told you. You don't have to worry about that. I'll be wherever you need me to be. There is _nothing _to worry about with that."

Santana breathes out in relief a little. Libby wipes away her tears.

"And I've been thinking about this little Lima problem. I think I've got a solution," Libby admits quietly, nervously.

Santana stops sniffling to look at her, hopefully. She's glad someone does. Libby pinches her chin to hold her steady. "Yeah?"

Libby nods. "How 'bout I move to Lima?"

Santana breathes out because, no, no... she can't make her do that. She can't make her give up her life and move across the country for her. That's not fair. She doesn't have to do that and that's what she tells her.

Libby growls at her. "Listen to me," she says, raising her voice. "My knowledge of taking care of teenagers extends to handing them condoms at a sexual health clinic and shouting at them when they're rude on public transport. I have never been a parent but I am a grandparent." Santana frowns in confusion. Libby breathes out and falters for the first time but she carries on. "Because, as far as I'm concerned, I'm your grandparent and I will love and look after you no matter what, do you hear me?" A tear rolls down her cheek. "I will take care of you, even if that means moving to Ohio, and you can look after me. Do you understand?"

Santana just throws her arms around Libby's neck and they sniffle into each other's shoulders for a few moments before Libby speaks again.

"You will never have to be forced to stay away from me," she whispers softly. Santana nods. "And I will not let you go back to your parents if I'm not sure they're not going to at least try to love you for exactly who you are." She sighs. "But you've got to give them a chance, sweet girl, you've got to let them try."

Santana nods, knowing she's right.

Libby pulls back a little while later and pushes Santana's hair from her eyes, beckoning Brittany over.

"Now," she says, pouring the coffee. "The three of us are going to sit here, and we're gonna work out a plan."

/

She has Brittany's hand in her left and Libby's in her right as she walks down the stairs. Frank looks up from where he's lowly talking to Quinn and Artie and glances up at them as they hit the bottom step with a sigh.

"What's happening?" he asks softly, more to Libby than to Santana.

"Are they still outside?" Libby asks softly.

"Refusing to leave," Frank tells them.

Santana looks up at Brittany as Libby lets go of her hand.

"Good," Libby says as she wanders away and into the kitchen. "Let em in, Frank. Both of em this time."

/

"Not you," Libby says when her mother tries to sit in the chair opposite Santana. "Him," she clarifies and points at her father.

Santana gulps as he refuses to look at her before sitting down. Her mother lingers in the doorway, just like Libby and Brittany linger behind her. She momentarily wonders where Frank is but assumes he's probably blocking the exits so they can't walk away again.

"Talk to her," Santana's mother prompts when her father just sits there.

He clears his throat and stares at the table. "I don't know what to say."

"How about you start off by telling me what your problem is?" Santana whispers. She doesn't feel like her daddy's little girl anymore and it's more jarring than anything else she's felt in a while. "You're a doctor, Daddy," she whispers. "You fix gay people every single day. You save their lives. Why are me and abuela so different? What makes us so special that you've got a problem with it?"

He shakes his head. "I have no problem with it," he stutters out. "No problem whatsoever. I don't care if you're gay. I don't even care if she was. I mean... I'll admit that it's really hard to get my head around the fact that you're going to spend your entire life struggling and fighting—"

"The only one I'm struggling and fighting with right now is you," Santana cuts through him softly.

He nods and she watches as he swallows to clear his throat. A bottle of water lands on the table a few seconds later and Santana looks up to find Brittany just about to retreat. Her father gives an awkward nod.

"Explain better," Santana says softly. "I'm not a child. You don't have to hide things from me."

"I know."

"So explain," she says and she refuses to beg.

Her father takes a drink of the water before putting it back on the table. She's never seen this man, who she used to look up to and know without a doubt that he'd be the only man she ever loved, look so pathetically small. She wonders if he's her father at all because she doesn't even feel like she recognizes him.

"I've—I've always had a feeling," he whispers softly. "It's a cliché, right? To say that you've always known that your child was diff—different? Well... I think I knew that you were—were—"

"Gay, Daddy..." she whispers, helping.

"Gay," he agrees. "But I just always had a feeling that you were going to be exactly like her, too," he shakes his head and then Santana sees it in a glint in his eye. Grief, loss, regret. It makes her breath catch. She sees a little boy who just lost his mother. "I knew that you were going to be beautiful and you were going to be smart and that you would take no shit from anybody..." He trails off and takes another sip of water. "And I knew—I knew without a doubt that if I didn't do something you would end up resenting me just like she did."

Santana breathes out harshly at the words, confused by them. "What?" she says and it's almost a laugh.

Her father reaches a hand up to his face to wipe his cheek. He shrugs and then she watches as he breathes in to stop himself from crying. "I was scared," he whispers. "I was terrified that you would become her and you would resent me like her and..." he chokes. "You're my baby girl," he whispers. "I couldn't live with myself if that happened."

Santana's never seen her father cry. He didn't even cry when her abuelo died, but now he's sat in front of her and he is.

"I spent my entire life feeling like she resented me for something," her father whispers and his hand reaches out until he' almost touching her fingers before pulling back, knowing not to. "I could feel it, you know?" he explains. "Like, she would look at me and there would be something there, something missing and I just... I was scared of it. I clung to your abuelo because he didn't have that. He always looked at me like if I wasn't there he wouldn't have anything, but I just wanted so desperately for that look in her eye to go away," he sighs. "I tried so hard. I tried to make her proud but it was always there and I never knew what it was because I just... She was the perfect mother."

He shrugs and Santana's mouth falls open. She looks at him and draws him in, knowing she'll probably never see something like this again.

"And then she was there and she's telling me that she's got cancer and that she's in love with this woman..." he gestures to Libby. "This woman who she had to give up because of me, that because of me she had to give up the thing that made her most happy." He chokes out a breath. "Do you know how guilty that made me feel?" he asks breathlessly and Santana shakes her head because she doesn't know anything right now. "So, I got angry," he says. "I got angry because I was mad at me and not her, but I took it out on her and then she was yelling at me because I was trying to argue about what everything would do to you, but she was telling me that I was the one that was going to end up messing you up because I was forcing you to live the life I wanted you to instead of asking you wanted and I just..."

He shakes his head and leans back in his chair. He gives in with a shrug.

"She was right and I was selfish..." Suddenly his face is in his hands and he's sobbing. "And now my mother's dead and I just... I never got to say sorry. I never got to say sorry and I've been at home for days thinking I was doing the right thing before it occurred to me that I'm just doing the thing I never wanted to do. I'm making you resent me and I just... you're my daughter and I love you. I was never angry at you. I was never angry at your grandmother. And I could never forgive myself if I just... I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry. "

Santana doesn't say anything, just reaches into the front pocket of her overalls and takes out the folded up paper inside there before tossing it across the table.

Her father stops and looks at it. "What's..."

"Read it," she tells him. "Read it out loud."

He nods and is slow to unfold the paper. Santana folds her arms across her chest and watches as her father's eyes flicker over the handwriting and notices whose it is. He gasps and splutters but then he looks up and catches her eye before nodding.

"_My dearest Santana_," he reads, clearing his throat. "_If you've got your hands on these envelopes, then I'm probably cold in the ground by now. But, don't worry, it's okay. This is how things are supposed to be. I'm going to assume that you probably know the truth by now. I know that Libby said she would always make sure you did if I couldn't manage it; I'm just hoping that you don't disregard what she says because your daddy told you something different. I'm also hoping that you're not some ridiculous age like thirty now and that the letter from the University of Miami is __still relevant. I hope you don't mind but I saw that you'd put the envelope you were going to send them in the trash and took it out and sent it anyway. No one should have to give up their dreams and I know how much you wanted to go. I remember you telling me how you and Brittany were going to go there when you were eight years-old and that you were going to be a doctor and she was going to be a marine biologist._" Her father looks up and over at Brittany then and Santana gulps at it nervously. "_I can see that there's something stopping you from doing that right now but I'm hoping you can work it out before it's too late. I just don't think you should compromise your own happiness because you're worried you'll upset someone else. I told you. Do what makes you happy as long as it doesn't hurt anyone and I'll always be proud of you._"

Her father looks up at her and she gives him a look that tells him he needs to go on. He nods before doing it.

"_I know that this might be a lot to ask of you, Cookie,_" he goes on. "_But take care of Libby for me. She waited nearly fifty years for me and I just can't bear to think of her being alone again after all that time because I'm not there. It's not fair. No one should ever have to be alone if people love them. If you love someone you should never give up on them. Sometimes, doing the right thing hurts more people than it does protect them. Look at me, your abuelo and Libby. Sometimes I look at your father and wonder if things would have been better if I'd have just gone with Libby, if I'd have given your grandfather the chance to find someone who could love him just as completely as he loved me. But then I think about it and wonder if your father would have met your mother, if you'd have ever been born and you were a miracle enough already as it is. I don't think..._" Santana looks up when her father stops. He clears his throat and looks around at her mother. "_I don't think I like the thought of a world where you'd never been born. I might have lost some things in my life, but I got more than I ever bargained for getting you as a granddaughter. I just wish I'd been more honest; then maybe your father wouldn't have reacted like this. But I don't blame him for it. He's..._" Santana's eyes soften and she watches carefully knowing what her father's about to say. "_He's stubborn and he gets scared. Just like me. And just like you. So don't hold it against him. Hopefully, this will just make things end up how they should be. I know what your father's like. He's probably brooding around blaming himself now. So, just tell him to stop being silly and that I know he's sorry. Maybe give him a kiss for me too..._"

Santana swallows when her father has to stop to hold his head in his hands. Without thinking, she reaches her hand across the table and waggles her fingers. He looks at them before quickly putting his hand in hers before she can pull it away. It's clammy with tears.

"Go on," she whispers softly.

He nods. "_I love you, Cookie_," he reads. "_I think out of everything that's ever happened to me, I'm most proud of you. And, even though there are a lot of things I'm not proud of your father for doing, falling in love with your mom and raising a daughter like you is definitely the one thing I'm most proud of him for. Tell him that. And tell him I love him and forgive him too._" Her father looks up at her and nods, understanding why he's reading this. She gives a quick nod in response but he's too busy reading. _"Be happy, Cookie. I don't know what I'd do if you were sad, so don't go falling apart because I'm gone. Just think about it this way: I'm not hurting anymore. I'm just off waiting somewhere for you to all come find me. Look after Libby for me. All my love always, Abuela._"

Her father looks at the letter for a few moments once he's done before quietly handing it back to her. She folds it and pockets it safely away before looking up at him sternly.

"Do you see?" she says softly. "None of it was to hurt you and none of this was Libby's fault. None of this was anyone's fault. It's just a shitty thing that happened."

Her father nods. "I know, I'm sorry." He looks towards Libby. "I'm sorry," he repeats. Libby gives him a sharp nod.

They sit in silent and Santana lets her father squeeze her hand. Her mother sits down beside him a few seconds later and Santana breathes through how they're both suddenly clutching at her arm desperately. It's a little too much too soon and she drags it away until they both look at her nervously.

"Where do we go from here?" her mother asks softly.

Santana shrugs her shoulders and sighs. "I can't just move back home," she whispers. "I can't... I can't trust you to be my parents right now. Not after this. Not so soon. You left me for a week, Mom," she whispers. "I know that there's all this other stuff and it was only a week but you still did it and it hurt me. You get that right?"

They look at each other before nodding.

"I can't come back home and pretend everything's going to be okay," she says softly. "I'm going to head back to Lima on Monday but I'm not coming home. I talked with Brittany's parents and I'm going to stay with them until I can find somewhere to live."

Her dad narrows his eyes. "How will you afford it?" he asks softly.

Santana shrugs. "My inheritance," she says softly. "They have to let me have some of it if I need somewhere to live. I can rent somewhere for a while. Libby's going to come stay with me and, if things work out, maybe I'll come home but, if not, I'll stay there until I go to college. Britt and I are going to try to get into UM."

Her father smiles. "Like your grandfather."

"And Abuela," she nods. "And Libby for a little while too. Stanford just isn't for me."

Her father nods in understanding.

"We are sorry, Santana," he says softly. "We'll do anything you need us to do."

Santana looks at them and shrugs. "I just need you to think about me for once," she whispers.

They look at each other.

"Then that's what we'll do," they say, and maybe, for a second, Santana can let herself believe that they might.

/

"I can't believe school starts in a little over a week," Brittany says as she folds Santana's clothes. All of hers are still tucked in her duffle because everything she's been wearing since she got here is Santana's. "It's going to be so strange."

She wasn't lying to her parents. The plan is to leave tomorrow and none of the others had any arguments about that. Her parents asked her if they should wait but she told them to leave. They didn't argue, and flew back shortly after leaving the house yesterday.

Santana smiles as she takes the clothes from Brittany and packs them into her suitcase. "Tell me about it."

"Everything's so different," Brittany says and she stops. "Like, nothing's the same."

Santana kisses her quickly because if she thinks about it too much she actually does start to get a little startled by it.

"You're the same," she whispers against her lips. "I still love you. That's no different."

Brittany smiles against her lips and wraps her arms around her. "Me too," she nods softly. "Except now everybody knows it." She pauses and pulls back a little. "At least, they will, right?" she asks with a frown.

Santana smiles against her mouth and presses another kiss there. "Maybe we should make this official," she says and then drops to one knee. Brittany's eyes widen. "Be my girlfriend?" she asks around a chuckle at Brittany's face.

Brittany's grin goes big, even as she calms down a little. She yanks Santana towards and kisses her languidly, pulling her back until they're laying on the floor.

"About time," she whispers against her mouth.

Santana grins against her mouth. "Is that a yes?"

Brittany nods, her hands tugging Santana close by the ass until their locked together.

Santana pulls back and gives her a huge smile. "Then tell me about it."

/

The bags are packed and the beds are made. The house is clean and Sam and Artie did a pretty good job of eating all the stuff from the pantry that they couldn't take with them. There's a pile of luggage by the front door already, a map underneath Santana's car keys and all that's left to pack away is the blankets they'll use tonight when they sleep on the couches.

Everything else is left for Uncle Frank and Aunt Dena to sort out for the next lot of vacationers coming to rent the house in September.

"You guys have got everything together a little early, don't you think?" Libby says when she finds them all standing around staring at the suddenly strange-looking house. She wraps her arms around Brittany and Santana before laughing at their faces. "Happy to be going home?"

None of them really know what to say.

"Come on," she says. "Frank's waiting at the bar. He's taking us out for dinner."

/

They eat dinner with Frank and Libby who fill them up with as much food as they can before exchanging hugs and promises that they'll see them in the morning. Frank pulls her to one side and hands her an envelope. She doesn't look in it but knows what it is, just from the shape. Her eyes roll automatically.

"Just in case," he whispers and he sounds so much like her abuela that she hugs him again. He squeezes her tight. "And for the apartment. I don't know how long all this legal stuff will take so... just in case. Keep it safe."

She wants to thank him but she doesn't know how. She'll see him again tomorrow before she leaves but everything is too overwhelming for her right now.

"I'm proud of you," he whispers and then he's pushing her away towards where Libby is hugging Brittany.

Libby gives her a kiss on the cheek and a hug before holding her at arm's length. "I'll see you in the morning," she says. "If you want, we can all get breakfast before you go."

Santana nods and feels safe knowing that she'll leave tomorrow and then Libby will join her just a few days later, ready to start their apartment hunting. "Okay, cool," she nods.

"And we can discuss color schemes," Brittany softly. "And furniture."

Santana laughs and kisses her on the chin as she wraps an arm around her waist. Libby pinches her cheek with a smile and then tells her to get out of here and go have a little more fun before they have to knuckle down and study.

They walk down Duval Street one last time and Santana buys them all extra large ice cream sundaes at the only place in town that sells vegan ice cream too, even if it only has three flavors, before guiding them all to wander around Mallory Square. They watch the performers and Sam tells them he's going to be a fire-eater when he grows up and they laugh at him. Laughing is easier than thinking about going home.

Brittany pulls them towards one of the old wooden docks and sits down before tugging off her Chucks and then doing the same to Santana's. The others sit beside them and wordlessly follow their actions. Santana just smiles as Brittany rolls up the legs of her overalls for her before urging her to dangle her legs over the edge. Soon they're all sat in a line, looking out onto the horizon with nothing ahead of them but the ocean.

Everything feels possible, but some things feel more certain.

The quiet is kind of nice until Quinn suddenly starts laughing hysterically. Santana turns to look at her where she sits beside her and narrows her eyes.

Quinn clutches at her chest and tries to calm herself down but it's impossible.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." she laughs uncontrollably, "but this has been the worst summer ever!"

Santana finds a grin falling on her face and she turns to Brittany to find her smiling into the soupy remnants of her second ice cream sundae. She snorts and shakes her head as she finds all five of them grinning or laughing.

"Yeah," she nods reluctantly. "Ever."

Everything goes quiet just as quickly then and something goes unspoken between them. Brittany leans over and squeezes her hand tighter as she kisses her cheek. Her head falls to rest against Santana's shoulder and Quinn loops an arm through hers as they think about where they are, where they're going and what they've been through.

Santana feels an undeniably happy smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. With Artie's arm around Quinn and Sam's arms wrapped around Brittany and Rachel, Santana's never felt less alone, or this happy, despite everything that's happened. She bumps shoulders with Quinn then presses a kiss to Brittany's forehead before she says the only words on her mind.

"But I wouldn't change a second of it," she says certainly. "Not a single one."


	19. Epilogue

**This is the final chapter. Thanks everybody for reading and reviewing. It's meant a lot :) Hope you enjoy. **

* * *

><p>"It's weird, right?"<p>

She glances sideways at Quinn and smiles. She's been standing staring up at her house for twenty minutes now and Quinn's the first person who's come up and spoken to her. Everybody else who's come to see her off has kind of just milled around her getting things ready and treated her like she's made of glass.

Quinn huffs as she drops her purse to the ground by her feet and leans against the car beside Santana.

She hasn't got long left now. It's almost time.

"I mean," Quinn goes on softly, puffing her hair from her eyes in the heat. "Did you ever think everything would end like this? I didn't. I mean... look at us."

Santana takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly before she nods in agreement. She still can't believe any of it but look at them. Look where they are. She keeps catching herself and wondering what the hell happened. How is any of this happening?

Four years ago she would have told herself she was crazy and never believed it if you told her this is where she would be. Three years ago she would have gladly lashed out at anyone who suggested it. Two years ago she would have ran away and a year ago she could do nothing but hope. Nothing's turned out how she thought it would but here she is and there's nothing she can do about it.

"You nervous?" Quinn asks knowingly.

Santana side-eyes her again, smiling coyly. "Are you?"

Quinn smirks and shrugs her shoulders proudly. "Why would I be?"

Santana snorts and raises her eyebrow. "It's Harvard, Quinn."

Quinn's smirk just gets bigger, almost turning into a smile. She's never looked happier. "Exactly," she nods. "It's Harvard. I don't feel anything but excited." Santana remains quiet. "What about you?" she nudges Santana softly. "Aren't you excited?"

Santana turns to her, her shoulders shrugging. "It just feels wrong," she mumbles.

Quinn clicks her tongue and pulls her into a hug. "I know, I know," she whispers once Santana's wrapped around her. "But it won't once you get there. It won't even matter anymore."

Santana thinks it's nice how, slowly, they've both become strong enough to support each other unconditionally. She doesn't know if she'd be able to do this right now if Quinn wasn't here. There are already far too many people missing. It's a feeling she has when she thinks of the future too. She just doesn't know what life will be like without her best friend around the corner.

She sinks into her and holds Quinn tight. "I hope so," she whispers. When she pulls back, she blinks her eyes a little. She's determined not to cry today. "Where's that boy of yours?" she asks playfully.

Quinn swats her arm and, as usual, her eyes go big. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call him that?" she says.

Santana laughs. "However many times it makes you realize that it's true," she says in response and looks at her best friend incredulously. "It's been a year, Quinn. I know you keep saying you want to take things slowly but there's snail's pace and then there's you. You've been not-dating him for a year. You haven't been on your pills for three months. Why haven't you put him out of his misery and let him call you his girlfriend yet?"

"Because," Quinn whispers stubbornly, her cheeks tinging pink.

Santana shoves her a little. "Because what?"

Quinn shrugs. "Because I don't want to jinx it," she whispers quickly, shoulders hunching protectively. "What if it changes things?"

Santana glares at her. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," she says teasingly. "And I've spent many a night this past week listening to a drunk and moping Sam Evans talk about Rachel Berry."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "He's still moping?" she says. "He's the one who broke it off. What's his problem?"

Santana laughs. "He's _in love_ with her," she reminds her fondly and Quinn rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She likes to pretend that Rachel Berry isn't one of her best friends but it's times like this that it's really obvious. Santana chuckles at her and shakes her head. "Just like Artie's in love with you, so why don't you put him out of his misery and tell him you're his girlfriend? Have you seen him struggle as he tries to explain to people why he's already bought a semesters worth of bus tickets from Manhattan to Cambridge to visit his _friend_? It's excruciating, Quinn. No one wants to see their friends _that_ much."

"Whatever," Quinn says.

Santana grabs her by the arms. "Tell your boyfriend that he's your boyfriend," she demands around a laugh. "Because I _do not_ want to have to deal with you, him, Sam and Rachel all calling me asking me for advice."

Quinn laughs at that. "Right? God. When did you become the put-together one?"

Santana shrugs her shoulders but her smile is proud. "Maybe it was when I paid my first rent check, or when I graduated at the top of my class, or possibly when I became a millionaire. Could be one of those reasons." Quinn laughs at that and Santana wraps an arm around her shoulders They both know the real reason. She sighs and shrugs. "All that love crap is easy once you've got it figured out, I guess," she whispers. "Or not. I don't know. Whatever. What do I know?"

Quinn gives her a pointed look before she hugs her again, tight and flush to her chest until their bodies are squashed together. It feels final and Santana suddenly doesn't feel so good about how abruptly everything's coming to an end. It barely feels like it started.

It was fine when Mike and Mercedes left for LA in Mike's car last week, or when Rachel and Kurt went ahead of Artie to New York. It was fine when they were all sharing one last vacation and fine when they were all graduating (except Finn, who flunked out in such an embarrassing manner that his mom actually threatened to ship him off to the army) and had to hand over the torch to the Juniors. It was all fine until this moment when Santana's car is full to the brim and her best friend is wrapped around her trying to say goodbye.

Up until now, it didn't really feel like a goodbye. It sort of just felt like a see-you-later.

"Can I say something?" Quinn whispers.

Santana's response in a choked whimper in the back of her throat. She's so fucking glad she gave up wearing those contacts every day. Today would hurt if she was wearing them.

"As long as it's nothing too sappy and gross," she whispers and tries to sound light-hearted. It doesn't work too well when she chokes on the words.

Quinn laughs. "I can't make any promises," she mumbles and Santana breathes out, holding her tighter. A hand clutches the back of her head. "I just wanted to say that—that I'm really grateful to have you in my life, you know?" Santana breathes out and shrinks a little. Quinn just goes on. "No, no... I am. I'm so grateful and thankful that I'm your friend. I'm thankful for everything you've done for me, okay? Everyone's thankful for everything you do, for how kind you are."

"But I didn't—"

"Shut up," Quinn laughs. "I'm trying to make a speech." Santana rolls her eyes. Nothing ever changes with these people. "I just—I think about where I might be right now if it wasn't for you and I can't bear it, okay? So, thank you, Santana." She laughs then. "And, I don't think I've ever actually said this but, I love you too, okay?"

Santana resolves to just nod and take in the words. It's been a weird year, mostly for the amount of people that have slowly shown that they love and care about her. She's not really had that before. Not from so many people and not so earnestly.

"I'm grateful for you, too," she whispers against Quinn's cheek. Quinn nods and Santana kisses the spot a couple times before pulling away and wiping her eyes. "I fucking hate these things," she says as she wipes her eyes. "It's not like we're never going to see each other again."

Quinn smiles. "Well, it's you. We might not. You're a lazy ass."

"So bring all your Ivy League asshole friends to the Keys," Santana shrugs. Quinn's face softens at the suggestion. Santana smirks. "I might not be there, but I can pay you a visit and give you a deal on the rental. Half off. That's cheap."

"Asshole." Quinn shoves her.

Santana pulls her in for a hug again. "Don't be ridiculous," she says as Quinn starts sniffling. "I'll be there. We'll roast a whole hog."

"But you better come to Boston too," Quinn whispers. "Or New York. It'll be fun."

Santana nods. "Of course," she nods. "We'll make plans." Santana's not ready when Quinn starts to blubber on her shoulder and shushes her gently with a smile on her face. "I love your dumb ass, Fabray," she whispers.

"Same, Lopez," Quinn cries. "Same."

/

"Where the hell have you been?" she shouts when Sam and Artie appear up her street, seconds after the back of her car is closed and she's going through her checklist. "I was about to come find you and go all Lima Heights on your asses."

Sam slows to a melancholy stop while Artie just purses his lips at her. "Girl, if this is Lima Heights then I am not worried."

Santana slaps him upside the head just for that. His glasses fall off but he tugs her into his lap anyway. "Love you, 'Tana," he whispers before she can yell at him. All fight leaves her and she softens immediately. "You know I wouldn't miss waving you off."

She wraps her arms around him, pulling Sam to her until she ends up with her face in his stomach.

"I thought I was gonna miss you guys," she says and they both laugh at her, cuddling her back. "Why do you always have to be late? Jerks."

"I was helping Artie pack," Sam explains.

"He was trying to see how many of my movies he could steal," Artie corrects him before pushing Santana back. "Are you leaving now?"

"I'm supposed to be but Puck isn't here yet," she says tearfully. Artie pouts at whatever sad, pathetic look she has plastered to her face. They boys cuddle her tighter.

She can't help but notice how wrong this feels. A pang of regret and sadness tugs at her chest and she pushes it away before she makes things a million times worse for herself. She's been feeling sorry for herself enough already as it is without doing the last thing she wanted to do and get upset about leaving.

She never thought she'd not want to leave so much. It's horrible and she almost finds herself wanting to stay if it wasn't for the fact that, if she did everyone else would still be leaving anyway. She hates everything for changing.

"Is Quinn here?" Artie asks.

Santana chuckles and nods behind her, back at her house where her parents are going through some stuff, undoubtedly preparing what they're going to say.

"She's fixing her mascara because she got all emotional and ended up looking like a raccoon," she explains as Artie wipes away her tears. "I was smart enough to not put any on."

"So that's why you look like shit," calls a voice and Santana turns to the woman herself, still dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as she steps back to the path. She leans down to kiss Artie the instant she sees him before pulling back.

Artie grins at her because she doesn't do that often. "Hey," he whispers and Santana rolls her eyes as he pushes her off his lap and pulls Quinn into it. Sam grabs her and tucks her into his side. "What was that for?"

Quinn drops into his lap. "You wanna be my boyfriend?" she asks. Artie laughs and nods in shock. Quinn sighs. "Okay. Then you're my boyfriend."

Santana scoffs. "This is supposed to be my moment," she comments.

Artie reaches for her hands. "It's okay," he says amused. "I don't know why she took so long to ask the obvious, though." Quinn frowns before kissing him quickly. "What?" he laughs before kissing her a little slower. "You did."

Santana's glad that Puck chooses that moment to appear around the corner. His mom looks pissed as she parks up and doesn't say anything to anyone as Puck unloads a couple of bags and his guitar case from the trunk and tosses them on the sidewalk. He leans in to the driver's side window to kiss his mom on the cheek, and then they all watch as she quickly drives away with tears in her eyes.

"She's still kind of pissed," Puck says and wordlessly pops open the back of Santana's car to toss his stuff in.

Quinn narrows her eyes. "That's because you told her you were leaving _yesterday_."

"I'll come back," he shrugs and closes the back again, leaning against it. "You ready to get this show on the road, Slow-pez?"

Santana shakes her head at him before pulling away from Sam. "I'm not the one who's twenty minutes late," she grumbles. "Mom! Dad! We're leaving!"

"I gotta pee first," Puck says and he wanders past her parents as quickly as he can, head down as they both glare at him, to disappear through her front door.

They step towards her carefully, hand in hand and smiles on their faces. Her mom's got an envelope in her hands and Santana meets them halfway, away from her friends. They look at her proudly and she gives them a timid little shrug, not sure what to say. It took them a while to get to this point but they were glad to have a few months with her after the lease on her apartment with Libby was up. They weren't home much at first but they kept up with their weekly meals and even let Libby stay for a while before she headed back to Florida.

Santana guesses that, if she said that things were good between them all now, it wouldn't be a lie. Her dad offered to drive Libby to the airport while she was at school and there's a picture of them all at Christmas sitting on the mantel in her parents' living room. She thinks that Libby's been calling them to check up on her too.

She's got a lot of hope that, maybe one day, they'll feel like a real family again.

"You got everything?" her dad asks before dragging her forward to tuck her into his side. It's the physical affection that was easiest first. Sometimes, she just needed a hug from her mom or a kiss from her dad, and that was okay. But it's the talking that they're still not quite there with yet.

Santana nods and pats her hand to his chest to soothe him. "Maps, addresses, college stuff, money, my triple A card, my license and registration, clothes, crap..." she reels off. "Everything."

Her mother smiles and bends forward to kiss her on the forehead. "Call us if you need anything," she says. "You have your car charger for your phone?" Santana nods. "And your normal one?"

She rolls her eyes. "I've got everything," she reassures. "Everything I need, anyway. We took everything else before, remember?"

Her mother nods and looks like she's going to cry.

"We've got a gift for you," her dad whispers, sounding just as emotional and worried. "It's kind of pointless, considering," he says. "But we've had the fund since you were a baby and you might as well use it, even if UM did give you a scholarship."

She doesn't even need to open the envelope he hands her to know what it is. "You didn't have to," she grumbles and tries to push it back to him.

Her dad kisses her forehead and shoves it back. "No, we didn't. But we did because we're your parents and it's our job to make sure that you're happy and you're not in a ton of debt." Santana rolls her eyes again. "It's just in case and it's not like we need it." He shrugs. "We've got good jobs and, you know, we never sold our old little house to get a bigger one," he nods his head behind him. "And we don't do much else. We're always at work and that's about it and, you know, you're a student now." He shrugs. "You should have fun or do something else with it... I mean, we trust you."

Santana reaches up to kiss him on the cheek. "It's fine, dad," she says softly. "You don't have to explain. I get it."

She gets it the same way that she gets why her parents doubled her allowance once she moved in with Libby those few months, even though it was already more than enough. She gets it the way she gets why her mom would swing by the apartment every morning on her way to work to bring her breakfast, or the way her dad would take her car and fill it with gas on Sunday mornings. They may have sucked a little bit for a few days there—and those few days really fucked things up—but they didn't want her to forget that they were still her parents. They wanted her to be sure that they still gave a crap even if they were working sixteen hour days most of the time. They wanted to keep reminding her that they wanted to fix everything and that's why they've done everything they could, everything she's wanted them to.

There's only a little bit of doubt left behind now and it's all just residual as they try to get everything back to how it was.

She just wishes people would stop throwing money at her. Enough is enough.

"Are you sure you don't want us to drive down with you?" her father asks for the millionth time. She shakes her head and glances at her mother's knowing eye roll. Her father doesn't notice. He just looks skittishly from her to the car. "Are you sure you don't want to get your tires checked again?"

Santana laughs and pulls them both in for another hug. They both press kisses into the side of her head and she settles into the embrace knowing she won't have it for a while. It feels good that she knows she's going to miss it.

"We're so proud of you, Cookie," her father whispers into her hair.

She snuggles into him. "I know," she smiles.

Her father pulls back a little and cups her cheeks. He smiles at her. "You will _never _know," he says softly. "Not really. We are _so _proud of you, baby girl. I don't think we ever really told you that enough."

Her mother grips at her hand and squeezes it tight. "You're more than we ever dreamed for you to be," she whispers.

Santana nods. It feels good to hear that. "Yeah?" she asks.

Her father nods emphatically. "We'll miss you," he says and then she's pulled into another hug again. "Call us every day if you can. Tell us about your homework—"

"We can help!" her mother interjects. The three of them laugh together for a moment.

Things slow again when her father kisses her on the forehead, leaving his mouth against her skin for longer than necessary. Santana's starting to wonder if he's ever going to let her leave.

"Just... call us," he whispers. "Any time of the day, okay?"

"I know, Daddy," she whispers.

He pulls back. "Oh," he whispers. "And can you do me a favor when you get there?" Santana nods. Her father reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. "Can you get some flowers...?" he asks before she can roll her eyes and groan. Instead, she finds her breath catching a little. "Lilies for Abuela and uh... white roses for Abuelo."

She takes the cash with a smile and a nod and squeezes her mom's hand one last time before stepping backwards. The others are stood by the driver's side talking to Puck and she tucks the money into the pocket of her overalls before stepping up to them.

"Driver or passenger?" Puck asks softly.

Santana takes a deep breath. "Driver, I think," she breathes. "Swap in Louisville?"

Puck nods and says goodbye to the others before rounding to the other side of the car. Santana says another quick goodbye to her friends before slipping into the driver's seat.

"I'll see you soon," she says softly, and watches in her rear view as the five people, left behind waving on the driveway, get smaller the further she drives away.

/

"You sure you're going to be okay on your own from here?" Puck says, twelve hours later as he drives through Memphis with a glint in his eye.

Santana smirks at him and nods. "I'll be fine," she mumbles. "I was gonna get a couple more hours of driving in and then stop for a few hours. I have a long way to go."

He nods and looks a little daunted at everything around him.

"You sure about this, Puck?" she asks.

Puck looks at her quickly before turning a corner, offering her his goofy smile. "Can't live in Lima my whole life," he says. "Look at all you guys. Florida, LA, New York, Harvard. Everyone's leaving. What am I going to do? Stick around and clean pools?"

"So you're going to just... turn up in Memphis and play your guitar to success with no real plan, nowhere to stay, no connections, no nothing?"

Puck grins and nods happily. "Work in bars, work dead end jobs, maybe become a stripper..." Santana laughs at that. "Whatever it takes. At least I'll have got out."

"Would you yell at me if I loaned you some money to get somewhere to stay for a while?" she asks quietly, leaning forward to the glove compartment.

Puck looks at her and shakes his head. "After you've already given me a free ride?"

"I was coming this way anyway," she shrugs. "And money is how we show love in my family," she jokes. "Seriously. Can I?"

He actually looks kind of touched at her words. She pinks a little. So what? He's a douche but he's her douche and they've been through a lot. He never once questioned her for the things she did. He's her friend and she's proud of him. She's proud of him for getting out and wanting to do something with his life just like she's proud of all her other friends.

"It's just like... a little something," she says holding up a wad of cash to him. He smirks at her when she reaches over and tucks it into the pocket of his jeans. She slaps his shoulder. "Cut it out," she says. "I'm no good for that anymore."

"I know," he says and she gets confused when he goes against the plan and pulls into an underground parking lot all of a sudden. She's about to ask why but he just parks up and turns to her. "Come get a burger with me," he says.

"Puck..." she tries.

He flicks her in the shoulder. "Come get a burger with me," he says.

She turns to him and reluctantly nods with a smile.

"Fine."

/

He demands that she call him the minute she gets to Key West while she demands that he call her whenever he can so she can make sure he isn't dead.

They hug tightly outside of a local bar before he pushes her away and tells her she's got a future to get to. It makes her grin and the draining sadness she's been feeling for the past few days starts to change into excitement, to happiness.

She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and makes him promise to come visit, then she's on the road again as it slowly gets dark, the warm buzz of excitement and nerves dancing in her belly.

She just wants to get there.

The roads feel like they have no ends and she spends a lot of the journey listening to her iPod and singing as loudly as she can, each song filling her with memories.

She stops at a motel, mostly because everyone she knew threatened to kill her if she didn't, and calls all the people who told her to. They tell her to say safe, except for Quinn who just spends the entire time telling her to come back and save her from the wrath of Judy Fabray. Santana just tells her that it's just a couple more days and she'll be free. She's not sure when she and Quinn started ending conversations by telling each other that they love each other, but it works.

When she gets up, it's to a phone call from Rachel, sobbing on the other end of the phone. Santana's glad to have something over loud-speaker shrieking emotionally to keep her awake until she finds coffee, but changes her mind when finding coffee takes forty minutes and she's said at least three wrong things that make Rachel worse.

Once Rachel hangs up, she leaves Sam (who's probably still sleeping) a voice mail message telling him she hates him forever. After that, the drive is kind of smooth and she stops off a few places when the traffic starts getting thick, in order to take a nap and get something to eat, before calling everyone all over again. It's tedious and exhausting when she has to have the same conversation ten times over but she guesses that's the price to pay for people giving a shit, so it doesn't bother her. Not anymore.

There's a hotel room waiting for her in Miami that night and she checks in and barely makes it to the bed before face-planting and falling asleep.

She wakes up to her phone ringing and answers it sleepily, smiling when she hears the voice on the other end.

After that, she stops off at the reception of the UM residential colleges to do as she's told and make sure everything's ready. It was supposed to calm her down but it just makes her worse.

"Wednesday!" the peppy girl behind the counter tells her with a grin and the peppiness in her voice doesn't even piss Santana off. She just gets more and more excited. She thanks the girl when she hands her the information and reverently puts it in the messenger bag slung over her shoulder before leaving with a wave. She looks around at the buildings curiously, all the way back to her car, and quickly realizes how much bigger everything is here compared to Lima. She only saw the school when she came to visit but it's kind of exciting to see that this is what home will look like for the next year.

She practically skips back to the car and all of her sadness is gone, replacing itself with impatience.

She drives a little quicker.

/

She stops off at the bar first, smiling at the familiar faces of the old guys who drink their beers outside, before wandering inside to the cooler and emptier bar. She grins her best smile when she sees Frank sat in the corner. He's reading the paper with his glasses on the end of his nose and she sneaks up on him after shooting Dena a secretive smile. He pulls her into a hug once she's made him jump four feet in the air and is too happy to see her to yell.

"You made good time!" he says, taking off his glasses.

She nods and climbs onto the stool beside him. "The traffic was really good," she says, stealing the leftover burger in front of him and nodding. He doesn't even blink, just pushes the fries towards her too. "I just drank a lot of coffee and didn't bother to stop. Just grabbed something to eat when I got gas and dozed in traffic. It saved a lot of time."

"Sounds stupid to me," Frank comments.

She pokes her tongue out. "I just wanted to get here," she breathes and gratefully takes the soda Dena hands her across the bar. "Where is she?"

Frank looks back at his paper. "Bathroom," he says but he's drowned out by the sound of someone screaming in joy.

"There she is! My sweet, sweet girl!" Libby wraps her up in a hug. Anyone would think it's been a year instead of a couple of weeks. "You're early!"

Santana just lets her hold onto her around the waist as she takes a look at her. She likes it because it's different from how her abuela used to hold her at arm's length and glare at her but feels just as comforting.

"How was your journey?" she asks once she's done and she keeps an arm around Santana's waist before guiding her back to the bar. Santana nods. "Have you been to see her?" Santana shakes her head but feels her smile tug at her mouth. "I think you need to," Libby smiles knowingly, pushing at her shoulders. "Go on," she says. "Leave, now."

Santana just kisses her on the cheek and does as she's told.

She'd never argue with someone telling her to do that.

/

The journey is now familiar compared to the first time she took it. She drives easily, nowhere near as nervous as she was the first time she came here. Her stereo blasts out music until she gets to the gates and she cuts it off as she pulls into the parking lot beside the old black Cadillac that's come to find a home there.

She jumps out, barely able to contain herself, and heads towards the sound of splashing and laughing ahead of her.

The guy at the counter just smiles at her as she wanders in and Santana barely waves back before she's wandering through into the actual center. There's more people around than she thought there would be but she finds her easily and it's like her heart beats properly for the first time in two weeks.

Fuck, she's missed her.

More than anything, she's missed seeing her like this: this new shiny, completely, utterly happy version of herself. Santana's been privy to this version of her the whole summer, since they found out that Frank's friend was more than happy to give her some work experience, and it's still too much for her sometimes. It was just another thing, on top of all the other awesome things that had happened to them this year, and it was just another less thing to worry about.

It really isn't a bad thing Brittany looks really fucking good in a wet suit.

Especially now, when her suit is half off and tied around her waist. It goes well with her coral-colored bathing suit that's just visible through her soaking wet, white t-shirt that has _Lower Keys __Marine Education and Rescue Center_ written on the front.

In fact it's really_, really _hot.

In the past couple months since Brittany's been volunteering here, Santana's really come to appreciate having a soon-to-be marine biologist for a girlfriend.

There's also nothing cuter than seeing Brittany fawn over a dolphin. Or how cool she looked that time they had to rescue a sea turtle from a fishing net.

That was pretty bad ass.

But mostly, Santana's just really, really proud of her.

She sneaks up to the tank quietly, deliberately moving to the side where Karen, one of the other women who work there, tosses toys to the dolphins they're working with instead of the other side where Brittany's there to retrieve them.

She appears at the woman's side, smiling up at her when Karen sees her and rolls her eyes. It's not exactly the first time she's done this but it's always worth it when Brittany finally manages to notice she's there. That usually happens once something drags her attention away from whatever marine friend she's made today, which usually takes a while.

It doesn't take as long today—it's almost like she can sense Santana's here—and Santana's sees her jaw drop a little before she just smirks and goes a little shy.

It's been two freaking weeks.

It's been two freaking weeks of no Brittany after nearly twelve months of seeing her _every single day_. She's pretty sure she's woken up beside her for seventy-five percent of those days (even though she tried her hardest for one hundred) and it would be impossible to explain how much she's missed her.

It started as the perfect solution but now it just feels like the most stupid idea they've ever had. Brittany needed to stay here as long as possible to get the most experience ready for college but despite the huge capacity of the back of her Chevy, there still wasn't enough space to bring all their stuff when they drove down here in May. That's when Brittany reluctantly said goodbye to her parents early and officially became a resident of Florida. But Santana decided that she would go back to get the rest of their stuff when the others went home (she wasn't kidding about that First Annual stuff) thinking that it would be fine because Brittany would mostly be working and Santana would just end up being bored, stuck in the house without her.

Well, she was still bored when she went back to Lima. It was still Lima and the only interesting thing that happened was Kurt and Blaine breaking up (which was so amicable and overdue it was boring), Karofsky informing her that he got into NYU to study Sports Management (which was only interesting after hearing about Kurt and Blaine) and Sam breaking up with Rachel so that she didn't have to wait for him a year. But that was just fucking irritating because she was forced to be the one who looked out for him and spent every single minute of his whining wishing that she was with Brittany instead.

But now she's back and Brittany's giving her that shy little smile she does when she doesn't want to look too eager or happy and Santana doesn't care because she's just really missed her girlfriend.

Karen rolls her eyes at them and shoves at Santana's shoulder.

She smiles, biting her tongue and wanders around to the other side of the tank, not touching Brittany when she steps up to lean against the tank beside her. She's on this little platform thing that extends into the water and there's a damn dolphin with its chin against her knee and she's never looked better.

"Who's your friend?" she asks softly, peering up at her because she's about level with Brittany's thigh.

Brittany gives her a smile and runs her hand over the dolphin. It makes a noise and she smiles a bit wider.

"This little lady?" she asks softly. "This is Dolores."

Santana giggles. "Dolores the dolphin? Nice."

"She's the best," Brittany says softly. "Very attentive. I've been thinking about making her my girlfriend."

"Oh really?" Santana says and she grins through the thought of anyone—including a dolphin—being Brittany's girlfriend except her. It makes her want to go all Finn Hudson and throw stuff. "Why's that?"

Brittany turns to her and the movement of the clear blue water reflects back in Brittany's eyes. "Well, _my _girlfriend was mean and went back to Ohio for two weeks and failed to remember how much I end up missing her when she isn't here," she says matter-of-fact and teasing. She urges Dolores the dolphin away by throwing a ball across the tank to Karen and watches her swim to it before shuffling closer to Santana. "However, I would be willing to forgive this cruelty if said girlfriend made it up to me and gave me something awesome to make up for it."

Santana grins and lets her hand reach out to touch Brittany's wet suit-covered thigh.

"Well," she says softly, teasing her fingers under the tight hems of the suit above Brittany's knee and watching as Brittany's eyes flicker there. "Said girlfriend was _awesome _enough to get you a whole box of those lemon jelly donuts you liked when you went to Miami in the spring." Santana points over her shoulder. "They're in the car," she whispers playfully.

Brittany lets her eyebrows raise and then she's thrusting forward and sinking down into the water. Santana smiles when she reemerges at the edge of the tank right where Santana leans and reaches out to steady her as she bobs a little bit.

"I was thinking more like sweet lady kisses," Brittany mumbles as Santana pulls her closer, her warm nose brushing Brittany's cold one. "But I'll take the jelly donuts, too."

Santana nods knowingly. "Oh, you will, will you?" she teases but Brittany's nodding and then she's kissing her slowly, savoring the warmth of Santana's mouth, before pulling back.

"You already ate one," she says knowingly against Santana's mouth.

Santana nods and pushes drenched blond locks from Brittany's face before pulling her back into another kiss. She wrestles a tongue into Brittany's mouth until Brittany's moaning and her knuckles are white as they grip at the edge of the tank. She pulls back and flicks some water at Santana.

"I'm _working_," she hisses.

Santana smirks and pulls her back in a little, just to kiss her nose. Brittany pushes her away.

"Fine," she groans, licking the taste of Brittany on her lips. "When do you get off?"

Brittany snorts and cocks her head to the side. "Later, hopefully."

Santana clears her throat at the thought. It's been two weeks. Brittany laughs at her before swimming back to her little platform.

"Mean," Santana comments. "But seriously? Frank said something about a party."

Brittany nods. "It's a you're-going-to-college party," she says. "It was Libby's idea."

Santana rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Still, should I leave and come back or are you almost done?"

Brittany looks up at the big digital clock on the main building and smiles. "I have twenty minutes."

"I'll meet you in the locker room," Santana waggles her eyebrows.

Brittany flicks water at her again, soaking her all up one side as she leaves.

"Now who's mean?" she calls after her.

Santana just smirks.

/

"Stop it," Brittany hisses, swatting at her quickly. Santana smirks and just tries to kiss her shoulder again. Brittany shudders away from her, trying to flick her with her towel. "I _mean_ it," she says and she looks like she wants to be grumpy except the huge grin pulling at her mouth won't let her. "Someone could walk in here!"

Santana just giggles and pulls her closer, not caring that Brittany's still damp with water. She's only wearing her damn bathing suit and it's been two weeks. Two freaking weeks that suddenly really feel like two decades. She presses Brittany against her locker and attacks kisses to her neck.

She's really glad that Brittany just gives up and continues to towel herself dry around Santana attached to her neck.

"You're incorrigible," she mutters softly, fondly. "Anyone would think you've missed me."

Santana hums in agreement. "Ridiculous... ridiculous suggestion..." Her fingers stroke down the muscles in Brittany's neck as she licks up it. "Shit, you taste good."

Brittany laughs and wraps her arms around her shoulders with a sigh. "Did you go see the residency people?"

Santana nods. "Wednesday."

Brittany does a little shuffle. "I'm excited," she whispers into Santana's hair. "Even though I'm sad that I'll have to leave here."

"You can come back," Santana whispers, giving up on her kisses and just cuddling Brittany instead. She softens into the warm-cold feel of Brittany's skin as the warmth of her core works with Santana's body heat to warm her up. Santana sighs into it. "Promise me we won't ever have to do that again," she whispers. "I didn't like being so far away from you."

Brittany presses a kiss to her forehead. "So, you did miss me," she states teasingly. Santana just squeezes her tighter. "I missed you, too," she whispers. "And I promise we won't have to do that again."

Santana groans. "Do we have to go to this party?" she mumbles into Brittany's shoulder.

Brittany laughs. "Yes," she nods. "But think about it: come Wednesday, the only thing we'll have to leave our bed for is to eat and go to class."

Santana hums around a laugh. "Awesome."

Brittany nods and shifts back a little to look at her. "Right?" she says with an excited smile. "So let me get dressed so we can go to this party then we'll be one step closer to being there."

She spins away and Santana just laughs, watching her move.

/

There's a huge banner across the stage with their names on it and, really, it's like any other night at the bar, except Frank and Libby are popping open a bottle of sparkling cider and demanding that a toast be made.

"We're not leaving until Tuesday," Santana says, even as Libby is clearing her throat to speak. Brittany chuckles at the look on Frank's face as he tastes how bad the cider is.

"It doesn't matter," Libby says, sternly. "This is a celebration and therefore there needs to be a speech."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Fine."

"I've got it, I've got it," Libby says and she takes the glass of cider Frank hands to her. "May your intake of knowledge be large and your debt small, your weight gain be minimal and your happiness last forever. I'm very, _very _proud of the pair of you and wish you all the best in everything you do."

"Here, here!" Frank shouts and Santana scrunches her nose up at Brittany as she kisses her sloppily on the cheek.

"Good luck, Brittany and Santana!" Libby shouts before the entire room repeats the sentiment back to them.

Santana blushes. Brittany kisses her.

/

"You got the flowers?" she asks as she straightens out her clothing.

Brittany closes the passenger side door and nods, her arms full of flowers and her pretty dress flowing in the breeze.

"You okay?" she asks softly, reaching for her hand. Santana takes it and nods softly before leading them into the cemetery.

The sun is warm as it gets lower in the sky and Santana takes in a deep breath as they wander through the grounds to get to the plot. It's not like she's never been here before but it's been over a year since she's been gone and when Santana realized that she couldn't believe it. Also, the new headstone was put in last week and she really wants to see it before she leaves.

She smiles when she catches sight of it. It's perfect.

"Hey, guys," she whispers when she gets there. She leans forward to run her fingers over it. She's glad that she has something permanent to come back to now instead of just a cross in the earth with a name-plate on it. At least now she doesn't have to worry that much when it storms. "We just thought we'd come say hi before we head back to Miami." She settles down on the floor in front of them without preamble and stares at their headstones. "We're moving to college tomorrow afternoon, so we won't be able to come see you that often. Sorry about that."

Santana watches as Brittany reaches forward and picks up the old dead flowers from their last visit and tosses them aside before unwrapping the two new bunches from the pink paper the florist put them in.

"Daddy wanted me to bring you guys some flowers too," she whispers as Brittany places them into the holders in front of the stones and arranges them. "Make you look pretty again."

Brittany turns back to her to check if the flowers look okay and smiles when Santana nods and reaches out for her. She breathes a little easier once Brittany's sat beside her. She feels safer when Brittany's cuddled into her side with her chin resting on Santana's shoulder. It reminds her that she's not alone.

"I can't believe it's been a whole year," Santana whispers softly. "It's crazy. It feels like yesterday that I was at home in Lima feeling like I was completely clueless about everything. I didn't know what I was going to do and where I was going to go..." She laughs. "I remember thinking that coming here would make me figure everything out, that I'd know everything and... I guess I did for a while but..." She nudges Brittany's cheek with her nose. "I guess none of us really know anything, do we? I don't have a clue what things are going to be like next month or next year or in ten years... anything."

Brittany smiles at her and Santana sees it and wants to take that back straight away. There is one thing she knows for sure and that's that she's always going to love this damn smile, and the girl that owns it, and she'll do that until the day she dies. It's just everything else that's a mystery.

She kisses Brittany quickly and it takes away all her fear.

Long arms wrap around her and it's then that Santana remembers that she's also had a year of everyone knowing that Brittany belongs to her, too. A whole year. It makes her smile and she kisses Brittany's nose.

"Oh well," she whispers softly. "I don't mind. I'm not so worried about that anymore..."

Brittany smile widens and she shakes her head to agree that she isn't either. Santana returns it and presses their noses together, eyes finding it impossible to look away from the future in front of her. .

"In fact," she breathes against Brittany's lips. Brittany shivers. "I think it's kind of exciting."

/

"Where did you pack the bed sheets?" Brittany asks. They're surrounded by boxes and they're pretty sure they're the first people on their floor but whatever. The girl told them that getting there earlier was better and she was right. There was no fighting for the elevator and they found everything without a hitch. "I can't find 'em."

Brittany stands up from where she's arranging the boxes so that they can actually get in and out of the room and settles her hands on her hips.

Santana smiles for the millionth time because Brittany's wearing her Fleetwood Mac shirt, and her overalls, and it never stops being the best thing ever seeing Brittany wearing her clothes. Also, she can't stop thinking about and smiling at Brittany's comment that she wanted to look like a moving guy.

"I think they're in the box with the towels," Brittany says and Santana watches her as her head slowly tilts back to peer through the glasses on her nose.

It's just another thing that makes her smile, a reminder of how lucky she is, how lucky they've been together.

They've had a year of changes and achievements. There's been the stuff with Libby, the stuff with Santana's parents, but there's been other stuff too. There's been things that probably won't end up mattering in the long run, like Brittany elected Senior Class President (which was originally to better her college application), and the pair of them joining forces with Kurt to open up a section of PFLAG at McKinley (Santana guesses that'll matter more to a lot of other kids more than to them), and Brittany being editor of _the Muckracker_ while turning _Fondue for Two_ into a legit webseries (which she won a Young Journalist award for). But there's been other stuff like Santana being Class Valedictorian and—after Santana's dad looked at her curiously one day and asked her if she'd ever had a dyslexia test—Brittany doing better academically than any of her teachers had ever hoped for.

Brittany says it's because of the glasses because, once everyone realized why the eye chart confused her so much, it was a lot easier to finally give Brittany an eye exam and glasses make everyone smarter.

Santana thinks it's because people finally started to pay proper attention. It probably didn't help that Brittany could barely see the page in front of her or remember the whole alphabet without a little help, but Santana knows that none of that would have mattered if people just paid attention.

But it's okay because here they are and their biggest achievement has been getting into UM together.

"Got em," Santana says before looking up and quietly reaching over to push Brittany's glasses back up her nose.

Brittany smiles gratefully before hefting the box marked "Clothes" atop the one marked "Books for school" into the corner of the room. When she stands up, panting for breath, she finds Santana staring at her. She frowns questioningly and Santana shrugs like it's nothing.

"Happy?" she asks, unable to really contain her own excitement.

Brittany nods quickly and then leans forward to press a kiss on her nose. "The happiest," she says and suddenly Santana doesn't want to unpack anymore.

She just wants to hold Brittany in her arms and soak up their achievements.

/

They're outside the building where the room for Biology 150—their first ever college class that they're lucky enough to have together—when Brittany suddenly stops and makes Santana stumble a little.

She's worried until she sees Brittany's excited yet terrified little face and moves back to her, a hand reaching to rest on her cheek.

"What's wrong?" she asks softly, aware of the hundreds of people milling around them ready for their first day of classes. Brittany's brow raises a little bit and she breathes out unsteadily, a cloud of energy leaving her.

"Nothing," she says with a slowly growing smile. "That's the thing."

Santana narrows her eyes. "What d'you mean?"

Brittany shrugs and clutches the recommended reading to her chest, even though she's already read it twice since she learned she got in. She breathes out another large gulp of air.

"We did it," she whispers softly, disbelief coating her words. "We're _here_."

Santana feels herself grinning so much that she has to bite her lip to fight it away. "We did," she nods. "We are."

Brittany shakes her head and Santana takes the book from her before wrapping an arm around her waist. She kisses Brittany on the nose and feels as she vibrates with excitement.

"But I didn't think we would," she breathes and looks around at all the people around them. Santana just looks at her.

She tilts her head. "Are you worried?"

"No, _no_," she gasps and shakes her head. "It's just... it's weird. All of my dreams have come true and it's such a strange feeling."

Santana tucks the book under her arm and leans in to kiss Brittany slowly and surely. No one really pays any attention to them, too busy trying to get to class on time. She pulls away and sighs straight away, glad that there's a room back in those dorms waiting for them when they're done. She quickly wonders what would happen if they skipped their first ever college class but stops that immediately, knowing how much Brittany's been looking forward to it. Still, she needs to hurry this if they don't want to be late.

"All of my dreams have come true, too," she whispers against blushed pink lips, staring into ever-beautiful bright blue eyes. "But do you want to know something?" Brittany nods. "It's just made me realize lots of new dreams and do you know what the best thing is?" Brittany shakes her head after a pause. Santana pecks another kiss to her lips. "Every single one of them still revolves around me and you."

She grins and loves it when Brittany grins back, loves it even more when Brittany pulls her forward and kisses her in a way that's probably way too indecent for this courtyard.

"I love you," she whispers when she pulls back and Santana nudges their noses together at the words. There's no fear, no terror, no worry when she hears them anymore.

There's only happiness.

"I love you, too," she whispers and takes another kiss before untangling their bodies and reaching for Brittany's hand. "You ready?" she asks.

Brittany bites her lip and nods.

Santana laughs.

"Then let's go."


End file.
